


Deep Roots

by appalachian_fireflies



Series: Deep Roots [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Daddy Kink, Forced Prostitution, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master/Slave, Rape Recovery, Romance, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Size Difference, Suicide Attempt, slave boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-20 11:30:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3648720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appalachian_fireflies/pseuds/appalachian_fireflies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Healer,” the house servant nodded. “The Master would like me to inform you that he is giving you this whore as a companion and assistant, a gift for your years of good service.” He shoved the boy forward unceremoniously, and the boy went where the man placed him.</p><p>Jeremiah had learned not to make assumptions in his assessments, but there was only one desperate action that created the wound he'd glimpsed on the boy's wrist, still bleeding under the bandage.</p><p>*This will be finished.  I have it plotted.  I just can't focus on it right now, and when I do have periods when my pain level is low enough to write, I write things that come easier to me.  Sorry for leaving you hanging!*  EDIT: Still got my fucked up body, but I'm baaack!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jeremiah had just returned from a long day collecting feverfew and sweet violet, rounding out his winter stores, and sat down with a warm mug of tea between his chilled fingers, when someone knocked on the door. Damn. Tea was best when it was at this temperature; he’d forgotten many cups with a late night knock on the door, only to come back to some chilled, over-steeped leaves. 

He stood quickly all the same; this was his duty as the healer of the Master’s estate. He was really very fortunate to have this little life of his own, in the cabin he’d made, away from the pomp and circumstance of the Master’s home, or the grueling labor of the fields. 

When he opened the door, he expected bleeding, fever, pregnancy complications. Instead, one of the servants from the house stood in his white tunic and pants, scowling, his hand gripping the shoulder of a boy with his head bowed, thick dark bangs falling to cover his expression. He wore only a short tunic; he was a boy whore, then, one of several the Master kept to use and show off to the other nobles, to display his wealth and dominance. 

Boy whores, and whores in general, were not often among the slaves that Jeremiah saw. Childbirth was not normally an issue; pleasure slaves were sterilized before the Master bought them. Venereal diseases were not common among nobles and their whores, and when they did occur the slaves recognized the signs as a part of their training, as well as understood the treatments. Sometimes, the Master or his guests were too rough with the whores, and then Jeremiah would treat them. 

This boy, though, had only a tight bandage around his wrist. Jeremiah had learned not to make assumptions in his assessments, but there was only one action that created a wound like that. 

He nodded to the house servant. “Good evening.” 

“Healer,” the man nodded. “The Master would like me to inform you that he is giving you this whore as a companion and assistant, a gift for your years of good service.” He shoved the boy forward unceremoniously, and the boy went where the man placed him. 

“I- I do not require an assistant,” Jeremiah stuttered, shocked. He’d gotten used to the peace of his cabin, and his first instinct was that he did not want to lose what he’d worked so hard to gain. 

“A companion, then,” the house servant said boredly. “Listen, I know what you must be thinking, but this whore isn’t any trouble.” He leaned forward, as if speaking in confidence, but the boy had ears; the man’s stage whisper could certainly be heard by anyone nearby. “Found him in the kitchen, with the knife bloody on the counter, just starin’ at it. Shallow little slice down the wrist. This one doesn’t have the guts to die.” 

Jeremiah wasn’t so sure; after years as a slave, working to keep his sanity, he had watched others fail. This boy had death in him; if he couldn’t bring himself to end his life, it was plain he still craved the only release possible from his servitude. 

“Address your owner, boy,” the house servant barked, and the boy looked up. His light brown eyes were arresting, even in their vacancy. 

“Sir,” the boy said, his voice hoarse, and gave the appropriate bow. He had only a knapsack of possessions in his hands.

“I know you,” Jeremiah said, puzzled. 

“If it please you, sir,” the boy said, his tone devoid of emotion, “I was purchased by the Master the spring before last.” 

Yes, Jeremiah remembered him now. He’d gone to update the Master on the status of his youngest child, stricken with fever but recovering, when he’d walked in on the Master fucking the boy. 

The whore’s ass had been in the air, his head tilted to the side where it rested on his forearms, facing Jeremiah. His mouth was a pink circle as he drew in shaky breaths, and his entire body jumped and tensed at a particularly rough thrust. 

_“Breaking in the new whore,”_ the Master had said easily, and asked Jeremiah for an update then and there. Jeremiah remembered being mortified at how quickly he’d hardened watching the Master’s cock sliding in and out of the boy’s lubricated entrance. The boy was beautiful; it was difficult not to react to the scene. He’d almost allowed himself to forget that unwanted lapse of professionalism. Until now. 

“The whore is yours now, Healer,” the servant announced, shivering at the cold. “Do with him what you will. The Master has no further use for him; only his thought to reclaim some of his investment by putting him to work elsewhere kept him from ending the boy himself.” 

With that, the servant left, shutting the door behind him. It was suddenly very quiet in the cabin, save for the crackle of the fireplace. 

Jeremiah cleared his throat, completely unaware how to respond to the situation. He was not the most social individual at the best of times. 

“Do you have a name?” Jeremiah asked, and he saw the boy tense slightly, though no expression of emotion crossed his face. 

“Sir may call me whatever he pleases,” the boy offered. Damn, the training for whores must really be something. 

“My name is Jeremiah,” he replied. “You may call me by my name, if you wish. I would like to know yours, as your mother gave it. Or the name you prefer to answer to.”

“Benjamin,” the boy said, and something undecipherable passed over his face. “That is what my mother used to call me. Sir.” 

“Benjamin,” Jeremiah said easily. “Why don’t you go sit by the fire while I wash up? I’m afraid I probably stink.” He smiled, but the boy did not smile back. He sat in one of the chairs by the fire and stared at the flames. Or, he seemed to stare through the flames at nothing, his periodic blinking and slow breaths his only signs of life. 

“You won’t be harmed, here,” Jeremiah said, trying to sound reassuring, though he mostly felt entirely out of his depth. 

“Yes, sir,” the boy said woodenly, looking towards him, his gaze perfectly and deferentially lowered. 

Jeremiah went behind the partition to soak in the bath he’d prepared, and was glad to find the water was still warm. He indulged in the water and soap for a longer period than he usually did, and if the length of time ventured into hiding territory, well, he was only human. Finally, he toweled off, dressed in sleeping garments, and pulled back the partition. He choked. 

The boy was on the bed, lying on his belly, legs splayed. A small bottle of lubricant lay beside him on the sheets, and his entrance had clearly been slicked and stretched, readied for penetration. He didn’t respond to Jeremiah’s movements, just continued that eerily slow breathing. 

“No,” Jeremiah blurted, then tried to think. “I don’t wish to use you. Now, or ever. I mean-“ he backtracked. “You’re a beautiful boy, but-.” 

Benjamin looked up. “Have you never had a boy before?” 

“No, that’s not,” wow, he really needed to shore up on his conversational skills. “I mean, yes, I’ve had a boy before. I enjoy them. But I would not like to have that kind of relationship, with you in particular. Through no fault of your own.” He moved forward, and frowned. “Stay still for a moment, please,” he said, his professional voice taking over. 

The boy’s entrance was puffy and inflamed, and it looked like his preparations had opened fissures that now released small points of blood to the surface. 

“Why offer yourself to me when you’re clearly injured?” Jeremiah asked, inspecting visually. 

“I’m not damaged, sir,” the boy said woodenly. “I can be used without any permanent harm.” 

“When you used the toilet last,” Jeremiah prompted, “was there blood?” 

“A small amount,” the boy replied. “I’ve been trained in recognizing what amount constitutes a serious problem.” 

“Well,” Jeremiah said eloquently. “It must cause you pain.” 

The boy simply stared at him. 

Jeremiah moved to his cabinet of salves, unscrewed the cap on one, sniffed it. He grabbed a bottle of disinfectant, and moved to sit on the bed behind the boy, who hadn’t moved. Of course he hadn’t. He hadn’t been ordered to. 

Jeremiah had begun to consider the depth of training whores must go through, and tried to banish the thought. He’d seen many slaves in the fields drop far before their time, driven to collapse. He’d treated the deep gashes of cruel whip marks in secret, and many other brutal injuries besides. He didn’t need to add to the horrors in his mind. 

“I’m going to touch you, but only to treat you. This will sting,” Jeremiah warned, and he poured some of the disinfectant over the boy’s inflamed anus. The boy didn’t even react. He held a cloth to the area for a moment, then put a generous amount of salve on his fingers, coating his entrance. 

He pressed a single finger in gently, coating the inside of the rim, where the chafing and fissures certainly extended. Jeremiah tried not to notice how easily the boy took his finger, how smooth the slide was. It was confusing, how this could exist alongside his sympathy and pity. His arousal was checked by the boy's complete disinterest in his touch; he could see how the Master would have been driven to cast the boy out in a rage.

Jeremiah withdrew his finger, and pointed to the salve. “You should use this to aid in healing and reduce irritation, at least twice a day, though you may use it whenever you experience discomfort.” He returned the salve to the cabinet. 

“You may dress yourself with whatever you’ve brought, for tonight,” Jeremiah said. The boy grabbed his short tunic, which barely covered him. Of course. The boy was at his full height next to Jeremiah, and he still stood about a foot or so shorter. “What is your age?”

“I’m not sure, sir,” Benjamin replied. “Of age. Several years past.” 

Ah. The would be all he’d know, all that mattered to his slavers. He’d likely grown up in slavery, taken from his family to be sold as a whore as soon as he came of age. His master would have kept a watchful eye for his beauty in the same way the strength of other boys might have been singled out for the fields. Though it was whores who were taken away to be sold elsewhere. 

“Come, sit at the table,” Jeremiah said, pointing to the softest chair. “I have tea.” He surreptitiously disposed of the old water in the pot, and heated up more. 

The boy sat, his face carefully blank. 

“Tomorrow, we’ll work on getting you some clothes.” Jeremiah looked over to the corner. “And making you your own bed. Then we can talk about what duties you might want to take over, what knowledge I can pass on to you. You needn't worry about our respective status; I care little for the hierarchies slaves create among themselves. I am a slave, just as you are.” 

Jeremiah poured the tea into two mugs. He needed the fortification as he tried not to stare at his still, silent companion. He sipped from his mug, and noticed the boy hadn’t touched his. 

“It’s feverfew, chamomile, and lemongrass” Jeremiah assured. “Completely safe, if a bit bitter. It helps reduce pain and inflammation, and alleviates anxiety.” He nodded toward the boy’s mug, and the boy picked it up and drank. 

“You’re quite skinny, for someone your age,” Jeremiah noted. “Have you always been that way?” 

“Somewhat, sir. I’ve had trouble eating as of late, and the Master preferred I remain smaller in size. My former Master, as well.” 

Jeremiah wouldn’t be surprised if the boy’s growth had been stunted from malnutrition, and made a note to watch that he ate. Once depression took hold of someone’s soul, it could dwindle them in a vicious cycle. And the boy was under his care, now. Dear god. 

“I’m going to sleep,” he announced. "I will take the left half of the bed, and you may take the right." It seemed easier to give the boy clear instruction, as he was accustomed, rather than force him to do something that might displease his new owner. Jeremiah knew that feeling well. 

The boy was unnaturally still all night long, and if his breathing eventually evened into the deep cadence of sleep, Jeremiah did not hear it.


	2. Chapter 2

Dawn brought Jeremiah to slow consciousness. He listened to a flock of geese traveling overhead, moving south for the winter. The cabin was chilled now, the embers of the fire dying in the grate. He opened his eyes slowly, turned. 

His memory of the night before came back all at once when he met the boy’s open, alert eyes. Jeremiah jumped a bit. The boy seemed to be puzzling over something, even in his obvious tiredness. Benjamin’s presence was all too real in the light of day, and Jeremiah found he couldn’t delay getting up any longer. 

Benjamin sat up with him, his tunic riding up as he stood. Clothes. That would be the first priority. 

“The pump for water is just outside the cabin,” Jeremiah said. Benjamin listened intently. The boy might be silent, his presence easy to forget if he wasn’t being directly ordered, but Jeremiah had the sense that he was far from unintelligent. “Why don’t you go collect some water to wash up, and I’ll make our breakfast. Take my coat.” He pointed to where it hung on a hook by the door. 

“Yes, sir,” Benjamin said softly, and left. He moved so silently that Jeremiah didn’t notice he’d crossed the room until the door creaked open. 

Benjamin picked at his oatmeal. It was likely that some anxiety was keeping him from sleeping, and the same affected his appetite. He was in a new place, after all, with a stranger. Though it could be related to whatever had brought him to attempt suicide. Jeremiah wasn’t likely to find out any time soon; the boy could be thinking anything behind the blank mask of his face, never mind talking about it. 

When Jeremiah brought him to Sara to be given new clothes, the same brown pants and shirt that Jeremiah wore, he behaved similarly. He moved like a doll when she fitted him, responsive only to direct requests. 

Jeremiah would think the boy broken, but some instinct told him otherwise. He’d seen slaves broken before; listless, waiting for death, personality and defiance drained from them. They simply weren’t present anymore; the dead, walking. This was different. If the boy lived, Jeremiah would understand it, in time. 

The boy pulled his hands back into the sleeves of his shirt as they made their way back to the cabin, fingers only darting out to fiddle with the sleeve of his new coat. It had likely been years since he’d had proper clothing. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever made furniture,” Jeremiah asked casually. 

“No, sir,” Benjamin replied, though he looked like he wanted to say more. 

“Any experience with building?” Jer prompted. 

“Yes, sir,” Benjamin said. “With my father. Repairs to the sleeping quarters, for field laborers. Roofs, walls, foundations. I remember as much as he taught me.”

Jeremiah filed that away. After mentioning the boy’s mother, it stood to reason that his memories outside of sexual service would involve his family. Still, it was odd to realize that a whore, who seemed so divorced from something as prosaic as family, had a past and life of his own. 

“Good,” Jer replied. “We’re going to find some wood for a frame, first.” 

The construction of the small bed took less time than Jer expected. No one came to his door with an emergency, and Benjamin learned quickly, mirroring Jer’s cuts and hammering with ease. 

When it came time to gather fabric and straw for the mattress, Jer was surprised to learn that Benjamin knew how to sew. Benjamin simply replied that all pleasure slaves were expected to mend their own clothing, though the tone with which he said it was carefully even. Another mystery to add to Jer’s growing list. Every answer he received gave him several more questions. 

They finished the task soon after lunch, so Jeremiah took Benjamin to the forest to search for medicinal plants. The grounds of the estate extended several acres, a good portion of it forested. Jeremiah showed Ben how to recognize poison ivy, to gather thistle, to gently draw out a seedling for replanting. Then he gave Ben the same task, watched as he worked. 

The exercise and tasks would be good for him, Jeremiah was sure. Purpose did wonders to combat depression, and the exertion would be good for his appetite. Plus, Jeremiah had to prepare his harvested stores for winter, create salves and pills, go through his inventory. It would be useful to have someone else trek through the forest for a change. 

When they finally returned home, cloth bags full of herbs, Benjamin did eat. When Jeremiah didn’t require his attention, he would go limp, blank, staring at nothing. It was eerie to watch him; barely breathing, like an elderly woman Jeremiah had seen once, touched with one of the diseases of old age. Still, it was probably best this way- the boy was clearly functional in this state, and it might serve some purpose. 

Benjamin’s bed couldn’t be far from Jeremiah’s in the small cabin, but he still managed to make the space seem shielded, a small nest of blankets in a dark corner. Only his eyes peeked out from underneath the blankets, and Jeremiah could feel them tracking him, could sense the boy listening when Jeremiah’s sheets rustled with movement. 

*

Jer had given Benjamin careful instructions of what herbs he needed most, shown him pictures so he could recognize them, outlined directions of where they might be found. He was prepared, except for one thing. 

Jeremiah held out a knife, and Benjamin stared at him. 

“For cutting the plants?” Benjamin asked, folding the switchblade flat. 

“No,” Jeremiah replied. “Word will have spread from the house of who you are, and that you work for me.” He paused. “Some of the slaves will think this means that you’re free to service them, that you’re an easy target. If they try to attack you, I want you to defend yourself.” 

“You want me to defend myself,” Benjamin said, and his brow furrowed before he could smooth it out. “Sir?” 

“Servicing them is not a part of your duties,” Jeremiah said firmly. “You’re my assistant, now, and it’s important that they know they cannot simply take advantage. If anyone tries to approach you for sex, if anyone taunts you, I want you to report it to me, and I’ll take care of it. Only use the knife if you must at the last moment. Don’t let them see you have it; the only way you’ll get the upper hand is if you have the advantage of surprise.” 

“You’ll take care of it,” Benjamin repeated, his face blank. 

“Yes,” Jeremiah said. “As long as you work for me, you’re under my protection. If I have to bloody a few noses before I’ve made my point, I’m glad to do it.” 

Jeremiah was a big bear of a man; he came off soft to some because of his occupation, but he spent long days in the woods, had built his own home. He was strong, and his childhood had been spent learning how to make a space for himself in the circumstances he had been given. 

*

Benjamin had taken lunch with him, and when he returned for dinner he had the herbs Jeremiah had requested. 

“Well done,” Jeremiah praised, honestly impressed. “Were you given any trouble?” 

Benjamin hesitated. “There was a man, who followed me when I skirted the fields. He had, a nickel pendant, with the head of a mountain lion. He didn’t do anything, because I told him you’d instructed me not to service him. But.” 

“Yes?” Jeremiah prompted. 

“He threatened me,” Benjamin admitted. “Said he’d find me when there were less women around, follow me into the forest. That it wasn’t my place to refuse him. He said, more.” 

“He threatened to rape you,” Jeremiah surmised. 

Benjamin paled. “Sir, begging your pardon, but a whore cannot be raped. A man’s wife, perhaps, but I’m not worth the trouble you would go to.” 

“Do you want to have sex with this man?” Jeremiah asked. 

“Sir,” Benjamin said, clearly trying to pacify him, because he felt the answer was dangerous. 

“You do not,” Jeremiah answered. “If he takes you despite that, even if he does not use force, it is rape.” He covered his dinner with a cloth. “I’ll return soon.” 

Only one man that he knew owned such a pendant, and he was certain that if he didn’t make an example of him while the event was still fresh, others would follow. 

If the bruised ribs hadn’t been a planned addition to the broken nose and subsequent talk about leaving the boy alone, Jeremiah didn’t feel terribly bad about it. The man had initially reacted with scorn, argued that Jeremiah should accept, even understand his intent to rape given the opportunity. His opinion was not uncommon, particularly towards whores, and it disgusted Jeremiah. If the man would only listen to force, then force Jeremiah would give. There were many situations at the estate Jeremiah had no control over; this at least was one where he could act. 

When he returned for dinner, it was with a calm sense of satisfaction. He began teaching Benjamin how to defend himself; where to wound, where to stun, how to move. 

It wasn’t natural for the boy, who had been conditioned to submit with a rigor that was nearly impossible to break. Submission was one of Benjamin’s deepest survival instincts, after years of training. Jeremiah could feel him holding back with each blow, in the way that he controlled his movements, his expressions. And, Jeremiah was sure, down to feeling even his own emotions. Rage would be dangerous, for a sex slave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments about stuff = motivation = word count <3


	3. Chapter 3

“Emergency,” a woman panted as she rushed through Jeremiah’s open door, out of breath. Benjamin dropped the herbs he’d been pressing to dry.

“Breathing? Heart? Blood loss?” Jeremiah asked firmly, and the woman shook her head.

“Sit,” Jeremiah instructed, pointing to a chair. The woman sat across from him.

“Infection,” the woman said. “His hand, he’d been covering it, it wasn’t a large wound. He had a fever, last night.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Parts of his hand are black, there’s some, yellow.” She stopped. “He’s confused. I wanted him to get it treated before, but he told me I was overreacting. I should have made him do it.”

Jeremiah felt his heart growing heavy. Some days were harder than others. He went to grab his kit, and a particular metal box he brought out in cases like these.

“You’re his wife?” he prompted.

She nodded.

He squeezed her hand. “I’ll do whatever I can to help,” he promised, and she sighed, glad to have it out of her hands.

“Benjamin, grab the bag with the rounded handles. Yes, and that bottle there. Leave a note on the door saying where we’ve gone.” Jeremiah put on his coat, and Benjamin followed soon after. There was a chance it wasn’t as bad as he feared, but fate was rarely so kind.

When he got to the man, he was shaking and sweating, clearly out of his mind, and terrified at how rapidly the infection had spread. Jeremiah put on gloves, and examined the hand. The man cried out.

“Scythe?” Jeremiah guessed, trying to keep the man lucid.

“Yes,” the man gritted. “Just a small cut, there, a few days ago.” The skin had blackened, and pus came from the wound.

A child’s head poked up around the other side of the mattress, then another. A girl and a boy, their faces covered in dirt.

“Are these your children?” Jeremiah asked.

The man nodded.

“Good, good,” Jeremiah said. “Benjamin, can you take the children outside, have his wife meet them there?”

Benjamin nodded, and herded the children away, a small hand in each of his.

“My name is Jeremiah. What’s yours?”

“David.” Jeremiah shook his other hand.

“David. I’ve dealt with this before,” Jeremiah said calmly. “I've been a healer for over two decades, trained by my mother before me. And what I’m going to do is the only chance I have of saving your life. If I do not, you will die.”

The man closed his eyes. The consequences of advanced infection were well known to those enslaved in the fields, as well as the cure, and every man and woman dreaded it. “There has to be another way,” he pleaded, and he looked to Jeremiah for answers.

“This is the way,” Jeremiah said firmly. “If you want to live. I’m sorry. I’ll give you a moment.”

The man’s wife rushed to his side, grasping his good hand, smoothing back his sweaty hair.

Benjamin approached him quietly. “You have to amputate the arm. Above the elbow?”

“Yes,” Jeremiah said. “I understand if you’re not ready for this. I’d rather you begin with scrapes, even childbirth, before this.”

“I can handle it, sir. You’ll need an assistant.”

The man’s kissed his wife and motioned for her to leave, even as he shook.

“Benjamin,” Jeremiah argued, and he was shocked when Benjamin cut him off.

“Sir,” Benjamin said seriously, “I used to live near the border, and I’ve seen wounded soldiers before.” He paused. “They say that soldiers cry out for their mothers, and I imagine that’s true. I do know that boys and girls taken from their families to be raped by strangers cry out for their mothers, until they are trained to stop.”

It was the most Benjamin had spoken in the few weeks he’d been with Jeremiah, and he shivered at his words.

“I can help,” Benjamin said, and Jeremiah didn’t argue.

Jeremiah prepped his tools, sterilizing them, and Benjamin sat next to the man.

“My name’s Benjamin,” he introduced. “I’m Jeremiah’s assistant. You’re in good hands.”

“There has to be another way,” the man said, glancing in terror at the tools.

“If there were any other way,” Benjamin said gently, “Jeremiah wouldn’t choose to do this.”

The man stared at the tools. Jeremiah prepped his anesthetic, placed the mask over the man’s face. He was hyperventilating.

“You have a wife, and children?” Benjamin prompted. “What are their names?”

“Ruth. Caleb, Rose.” The man faced him, away from the tools.

Benjamin smiled. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they? You can care for them, still. You’ll have both of your legs, to walk, and a hand to work. Men have made do with less.” Benjamin held his uninjured hand. “This will save your life. And you have plenty more to live for.”

The man nodded, losing partial consciousness with the anesthetic, breathing slowing.

“Keep talking to him,” Jeremiah ordered, and readied the bone saw. The man cried out.

“Hold him down,” Jeremiah said firmly, and Benjamin stood, placing pressure on the man’s chest.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Benjamin said gently, “look at me. It’ll be over soon, then you can get back to your life, see your wife and kids.”

Jeremiah worked rapidly, and had made it half way through the bone. Benjamin’s voice was still calm, and he glanced up, checking.

Benjamin’s face had undergone a transformation so drastic Jeremiah was nearly draw in the way the man beneath him had been, riveted by his gaze. Benjamin’s expression was full of compassion, gentleness. His tone was warm and steady as he continued to talk, getting the man to make mumbled replies between cries and screams of pain.

Benjamin didn’t flinch, just kept up the steady stream of soothing distraction. Jeremiah finished with a sickening crunch, and the man’s body seized in pain while he held him. The cloth he’d been placing in the wound had fallen, but he’d already had more wrapped as he worked, and was quick to replace it.

“Pressure,” he ordered Benjamin, and he was quick to comply. The man, blessedly, had passed out.

Jeremiah kept the wound cleaned, wrapped. He held the cloth with Benjamin, replacing it occasionally, keeping the remains of the limb elevated.

“What are his chances?” Benjamin asked softly.

“Hard to say,” Jeremiah answered honestly. “Better, now. If he survives the day, very good.”

Benjamin nodded. They sat in silence for a while.

“You did very well,” Jeremiah said. “I’m proud of you. I couldn’t have done what you did.”

Benjamin ducked his head, uncomfortable with the praise. “I’m sure you could have, sir.”

“No,” Jeremiah said, sure. “I have to keep a certain mindset, when I do this work. I have compassion for my patients, but you.” He paused. “You were gentle, when you saw his terror.”

Benjamin’s face went blank. “Gentleness is not an asset. Not for someone like me.” He caught himself. “Sir.”

Jeremiah was so glad Benjamin had contradicted him that he didn’t have the heart to push back.

*

“Cloves,” Jeremiah answered. “That’s what makes the scent of the tobacco so sweet.” He puffed from the pipe, balanced evenly on the fence. The tobacco helped combat the chill evening air, and he sighed as the pleasurable relaxation from the smoke calmed him. He didn’t smoke often, but he brought the pipe out, on days like this.

The man had survived, and was now in the arms and watchful care of his wife.

“Would you like to try?” Jeremiah asked.

“I would, sir,” Benjamin answered, polite. “I don’t know how.”

“Like this,” Jeremiah instructed, breathing in. “Slowly.”

Benjamin took the pipe, dubious, and mimicked the movement. He spluttered, coughing, and Jeremiah laughed.

Benjamin gave a short laugh, once his breathing evened out, and Jeremiah was frozen when Benjamin handed the pipe back.

“I think it isn’t for me, sir,” Benjamin apologized, his expression carefully neutral again.

Jeremiah clapped him on the back, and Benjamin’s entire body went still. “Probably best. Many healers believe it aids in the health of the lungs, but I’ve only ever observed the opposite effect.”

Benjamin nodded. “What you did today. You saved that man’s life. I know it must be difficult, but...you fought death, and you won, as far as we can tell.”

“For today,” Jeremiah said. He turned to face him. “Benjamin, do you still want to die?”

“I-,” Benjamin said, startled. They hadn’t spoken about this. “Sir. The circumstances that led me to- are different, now. I’m not sure I can explain.”

“You don’t have to,” Jeremiah relieved him of his discomfort. “I’m glad for it.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all of your lovely comments! even if I do not respond to them, I've read and appreciated every one :)

The grounds outside the cabin settled into deep snowfall after snowfall, blanketing the earth with white. The bitter chill brought with it a measure of peace; the seedlings were tucked away for the spring, no herbs were alive to gather, and visits to the cabin were few. 

Benjamin’s hesitant commentary and gentle humor became the background of Jeremiah’s life, filling the cabin sometimes with conversation, but mostly with silent companionship. His presence was comforting, steady; Jeremiah hadn’t realized the loneliness of his solitary existence until another person filled it. He’d always appreciated the company of others, but only for short periods of time. He couldn’t imagine the close presence of any individual becoming anything but a nuisance, before. Now, he couldn’t imagine a time before Benjamin. 

Each day, they created salves, tended wounds, sterilized, sewed. Benjamin had begun to learn how to properly mix the remedies Jeremiah had recorded, including those passed down from his mother. He had to have the instructions read aloud, as he did not know how to read or write, and Jeremiah’s efforts to teach him would take time. Literacy was not only considered unimportant to a whore, but forbidden; not so, for a healer’s assistant. 

And he was undeniably a valued assistant. He so charmed their visitors that word of “that nice young man” had spread, rather than “that wrist slitting boy whore.” Jeremiah had some idea that the boy knew exactly what he was doing, but his compassion and humor were genuine. 

Whenever Jeremiah was called to the Master’s house, it was unsaid that Benjamin would remain behind. On all other calls, though, he assisted. He’d assisted in the delivery of a child for the first time just last week, and Jeremiah felt himself smile with pride at how well he’d done. 

Jer and Benjamin were left alone to enjoy their small haven of comfort amidst the unusually harsh winter. Here, they were respected. They could nearly forget they were enslaved. 

*

The only inconvenience of sharing lodgings with another, during the winter in particular when Benjamin rarely left the cabin on his own, was that it made taking care of himself very difficult for Jeremiah. 

He would wait until he heard Benjamin’s breathing even out in sleep, but even then he knew the boy slept lightly, and that his ears were keen to the smallest of movements. He’d take himself in hand with as little noise as he could, stroking his cock, finally pushing through the circle of his fingers. It’d been some time since he’d given in to the drive to seek relief; he hadn’t wanted to make the boy uncomfortable, or push him further into his silence. 

As Jeremiah though of Ben, his imaginings turned unbidden to the boy’s body, and he flushed in shame. There was no harm in fantasy, he knew logically, and he’d never approach the boy unasked. He closed his eyes and thought of the first day Benjamin had come to him, the way his slender legs had looked splayed wide on his bed. 

He imagined him offering himself, smiling, eager to be given pleasure. Of the soft moans he’d make when Jeremiah touched him, kissed him, licked him open. Jeremiah bit off a moan, jerking himself faster, and missed the rustle of sheets until Benjamin had crossed the room to his bedside. 

Jeremiah stopped, quickly pulling his hands out of his pants. “Benjamin, I-“ 

Benjamin simply rolled down the sheets, exposing him, tugged at the waistband of his underwear. 

“Benjamin,” Jeremiah stuttered, and Benjamin stopped. 

“You told me that you recognized me, the first day I was brought to your cabin. I do remember it.” His voice was clear, his gaze direct. “The master was fucking me. You stood there, trying to speak, but your attention was elsewhere. I’ve been trained in recognizing what men desire, and I have seen the look in your eyes many times before,” he said plainly. “You desired me. You thought about fucking me, imagined it was your cock inside me instead of his.” 

“I-,” Jeremiah couldn’t exactly deny it, especially when his cock reacted to how close Benjamin’s lips had come. “You owe me nothing,” Jeremiah said as firmly as he could. “Your occupation is as my assistant. You never have to offer your body again just because men desire it.”

“I know,” Benjamin said, and he bit his lip, an odd tell. “You’re a good man. It’s my desire to give you pleasure, if you feel any attraction towards me. This is my choice.” He paused. “I’ve imagined this for quite some time.” 

Jeremiah wasn’t sure how to argue that. The boy’s logic was clear; it didn’t seem to be a misguided attempt to pacify him, or a means of fulfilling his perceived duty. If he turned him away, he feared it might cause him to retreat again. And there was no need to. Gods forgive him, he wanted this. The pads of Benjamin’s fingers on his hipbones alone had him dripping. 

“What do you want, Benjamin?” Jeremiah asked, making eye contact. “When you imagined coming to me, what did you see?” 

“I want,” Benjamin took in an audible breath. “I want to give you pleasure with my mouth. I have some skill with it, or I thought I-.” Benjamin looked up, anxious. “Perhaps, if you allowed me to touch you, while you did not touch me, it would be more comfortable to me. If it please you.” 

“Thank you for telling me,” Jeremiah said, low, and Benjamin looked away. “I will not touch you if you’d rather I didn’t. In the interest of honesty, though, I enjoy bringing my partners pleasure.” He brought his hands up, away from Benjamin. “If you do think of something you like, it would please me for you to tell me.”

“Yes, sir,” Benjamin replied. 

“I think you might call me Jeremiah, now,” he laughed. 

“Yes, sir,” Benjamin smiled, strained. One step at a time. 

“Only if you desire this,” Jeremiah repeated, serious. “If you feel uncomfortable, if you want to stop for any reason, do so. You will not disappoint me.” 

Benjamin nodded, and ran his thumbs over Jeremiah’s hipbones, removing his underwear in one fluid movement. He rolled Jeremiah’s balls delicately in one hand, and opened his mouth without preamble, shielding his teeth. He hardly had to work to bring him to hardness. 

The warm, wet pressure of Benjamin’s mouth moving steadily down his cock made Jeremiah cry out, then gape at the sight before him. Benjamin took his entire length in one smooth motion. It wasn’t an easy feat. Jeremiah had to fight not to thrust, though he was sure Benjamin could take a cock using his throat. 

Jeremiah gripped the sheets and hung on, letting Benjamin have his way with him. The warm movements of his tongue, the steady movement of his lips, the way his eyes went bright with concentration were his entire world. 

It was over embarrassingly quickly, and Jeremiah could only warn him seconds before he came. Benjamin simply deep-throated him and hummed, swallowing him down. 

“God, gods, you’re so sweet,” Jeremiah babbled when Benjamin drew back, gripping the sheets firmly to remind himself not to touch. “Are you ok?” 

Benjamin smiled gently, as if fond of Jeremiah's oddities. “Yes. I liked it. Thank you.” He ran a hand down Jeremiah’s side, then retreated. “I’ll see you in the morning, sir.” 

Jeremiah fell asleep to the thought of holding the boy in his arms. Just that, sleeping, at peace. 

*

They shut the entrance to the cave as soon as they entered, leaving behind the morning frost. Jeremiah lit a lantern, and Benjamin followed. 

The descended into the ancient tunnels until they reached a spot several feet underground, retrieving dried packets of seeds. The regulated temperature of the caves preserved them better than the humid, variable temperatures of the cabin. 

“Jeremiah, the other night, you said to me,” Benjamin began, then stopped, following Jeremiah in silence back to the surface. Jeremiah waited patiently; he knew it was often difficult for Ben to speak his mind. “You said you enjoyed bringing your partners pleasure, and I should ask you, if, I were.” 

“Yes," Jeremiah encouraged. 

Benjamin breathed out. “I want you to show me how you touch others. But I’m,” he flushed with shame. “I’m not sure how I might respond, to being penetrated. It made the Master angry, before.” 

“Have you ever fucked anyone?” Jeremiah asked. “Man? Woman?” 

Benjamin barked a laugh, as if he found the question ridiculous. “No.” 

“What about had your cock sucked? Rubbed against someone till you came?” 

“No,” Benjamin said, scandalized. 

“We can start there, then,” Jeremiah smiled. 

*

Benjamin followed Jeremiah to bed that night in silent invitation, resting lightly on top of the mattress with a blank expression. It was his default when he was interested, scared, angry, joyful- any intense emotion, and he was likely experiencing several at the moment. Jeremiah had found that when Benjamin was overwhelmed, he couldn’t fake emotion; he retreated entirely, sometimes to the point of an apparently vegetative state, when truly disturbed. 

Jer imagined the Master and his guests yelling at their obedient but mechanical, dissociated whore, and how Benjamin would have instinctively retreated further, inciting the fullest extent of their ire. The boy was too naturally gentle, his sexuality too tied to attachment to bear their use of his body without protecting himself the best way he knew how. 

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jeremiah reminded him. “We can remain clothed.” 

“I can stop, if I wish to?” Benjamin asked, needing to hear the words. 

“Yes,” Jeremiah said. “I want you to tell me, if you want to stop. I would never have any anger towards you for that.” 

Benjamin nodded, and moved closer. “Please, sir,” he asked quietly, his calm reserve falling away, nervous and eager. 

“Come to me,” Jeremiah instructed, pulling his feet beneath him, and patting him lap. 

Benjamin came, and his unsure movements, the lack of practiced fluidity, was beautiful. He was allowing Jeremiah to see him. Jeremiah ran his hands gently down the boy’s sides, and he shivered, lips parting. 

Jeremiah took the opportunity to lean down, cupping his jaw, and kiss him. Benjamin made a shocked noise and opened for him, letting the kiss deepen. He was inexperienced, awkward, perfect. Whores weren’t kissed, as a rule. It was a mark of infidelity, to have emotional attachments to one’s whores. He ran a palm down the line of Ben’s spine, soothing. 

Benjamin whined softly at the touch, and the noise made Jeremiah’s heart clench. 

“That’s it,” Jeremiah said between kisses. “I want you to take your pleasure.” He slid his hands under Benjamin’s shirt, and Benjamin tried to aid him in pulling it off. 

“Why don’t you just allow me to take care of you?” Jeremiah offered gently, pulling the shirt over the boy’s head. “How long has it been since someone made you feel good?” 

Benjamin looked down and away. 

Jeremiah ran his fingers through Benjamin’s soft hair, down the sides of his neck, watching his pupils grow dark, his lips red with kissing, the way his soft stomach moved as he drew in breath. “You’re so beautiful,” he said softly, tracing his shoulders. 

Something dark passed over Benjamin’s open expression, then he went blank. 

“What is it?” Jeremiah asked gently, tangling their fingers. “You can tell me.” 

Benjamin looked down at their hands, as if it were a particularly difficult puzzle. 

“I used to cover my face with dirt when the Master visited,” he said eventually. “My first Master, that is.” His voice became soft, a confession only Jeremiah could hear. “I saw the way he looked at me. He was the first.” 

Oh. _Gentleness is not an asset_ , Jeremiah remembered. “He saw something beautiful in you,” he said, thumb tracing Ben’s cheekbones. “I’ve seen you, how you are when you care for others. It brings out parts of you that are otherwise hidden. I’d never seen anything so incredible as when you came to life, comforting that man whose arm I took. The depth of your gentleness, your ability to bring comfort. Your master, and others.” He paused. “They saw that gentleness, and they took it, used the goodness within you to break you.” 

Benjamin flinched. Jeremiah stroked his stiff shoulders until he relaxed again. 

“Sweetheart,” Jeremiah said carefully, aware of the thin ice he treaded, “there is nothing wrong with what you are." 

“I’m weak,” Benjamin gritted. “I’m broken. I changed.” He pulled back. “Do you know how many men have fucked me?” The anger rose in his voice, a crack in the dam. “I’ve been passed around at parties like a toy. Once, fourteen different men took me in one night. It took me an hour to clean their cum from my legs, but they were still inside me.” He looked up, fierce. “All of them are. You should not be touching me.” 

Jeremiah took his hand in his, brought it to his lips, kissed it. “You’re perfect, as you are.” 

Benjamin looked at him, snorted. The mood evaporated as quickly as it had come. “You are difficult to argue with.” 

Jeremiah smiled. “That’s my boy.” 

Benjamin leaned up, offering himself for another kiss. It would likely be some time before he felt comfortable enough to take his own initiative. Jer deepened the kiss, and Benjamin shifted forward, pressing against him. His cock was completely soft. 

“Love,” Jeremiah started, “are you feeling ok? Would you like to stop?” 

“No,” Benjamin answered, puzzled. “I would not like to stop. I feel fine.” 

Jer winced. “You’re not hard.” 

Benjamin flushed deeply. “I, dear gods.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I’ve been trained not to grow hard when I’m touched, or to come. It’s considered lewd, for a boy whore. It’s very difficult for me to, unless it happens while I sleep. The thought of the punishments I was given is enough to keep me from touching myself, though I used to come easily.” He smiled. “Far too easily.” 

Jeremiah swallowed. “That’s ok,” he soothed. “You don’t have to, in order to experience pleasure.” 

Benjamin made a frustrated noise. “I appreciate the intent of your words, but in practice it is quite painful to not have come for months on end.” 

Jeremiah flicked his fingers over the seam of Benjamin’s pants. “Would you like me to try? Would it overwhelm you?” 

“I hope so,” Benjamin offered with a smile. 

Jeremiah nodded. “Lay back, sweetheart. I’m going to suck your cock.” 

Benjamin’s mouth fell open. “Sir! You do not have to do _that_.” 

It was considered humiliating, dirty, to suck another man’s cock. Only a man forced to his knees would do such a thing. 

Jeremiah chuckled, and gave his shoulders a gentle push. “Lie back, love. Let me know if it’s too much.”

Benjamin went with wide eyes, watched Jeremiah unfasten his pants and then his underwear, remove them, lower himself between his legs. The boy’s breathing had grown rapid, and his cock was hardening despite himself. His skin had gained a beautiful flush, and the color was high in his cheeks. 

“Beautiful,” he said softly, and spread the boy’s legs very slightly, giving himself room to move between them. He kissed up from the knee, over the sensitive insides of the boy’s thighs, his hip bones, his vulnerable belly. His cock was filling with the attention, and Benjamin’s body moved restlessly. Jeremiah looked up to see the boy viciously biting his lip; he brought his finger up to it, pressed until the teeth retreated. 

“Let me hear your pleasure,” he said, and went back between his spread legs. He licked up the underside of his shaft to the tip, and Benjamin let out a high, desperate noise. 

“Good,” Jeremiah encouraged, and he mouthed along his shaft with lips and tongue, bringing him to partial hardness. “You’re being so good for me.” 

Benjamin’s cock jumped, and he let out loud moan. Jer took the opportunity to gently suck at the head, encourage him to full hardness before he could censor himself. 

Benjamin cried out, and Jeremiah slid down his shaft, sucking him in earnest. He kept up the rhythmic motion, and Benjamin’s hands darted down to grip his sides, fingernails digging into the flesh. Jeremiah rubbed at them. 

“It’s ok,” he soothed, pulling off for a moment. The boy’s cock was fully hard, leaking precome. “You can do it, baby.” He went back to his task, petting the boy’s flank as he worked. 

Benjamin let out little whines of need, moans of pleasure. His eyes were glazed, far away. “I’m scared,” he said, and his voice was odd, small. The way that grown men and women sometimes became when they were in terrible pain, or under the influence of certain herbs. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Jeremiah asked seriously. 

Benjamin shook his head. 

Jeremiah moved up, kissed him. “Nothing to be afraid of, love. I know you can do it. You can be so good for me.” He kissed down the boy’s torso, his stomach, then took him in his mouth again, wrapped his hand around the base, worked rapidly at the head. 

Ben gave a small scream of pleasure, quickly covered by his hand, and came in Jeremiah’s mouth. Jeremiah worked him through it until he was soft again, and pulled back to see Benjamin’s wide eyes shifting to blankness, his delicate trembling. 

Jeremiah moved to the head of the bed, sat up, and pulled Benjamin into his arms. “You were so good for me,” he said into his ear. “Shh, you’re safe here, with me. Are you ok, sweet boy?” 

There was a wetness on Jeremiah’s shoulder, and he pulled back to see the silent tears. Benjamin’s expression was still blank. 

Jeremiah felt his stomach drop. He’d miscalculated. He should have insisted they move more slowly. “I’m sorry-“ he began, and Benjamin shook his head rapidly. 

“No,” Benjamin managed, his voice flat, expression empty, tears running silently down his face. “No, I’m ok.” He touched his face. “I haven’t-.” He was trembling still, with something more than adrenaline. 

Jeremiah moved him back into the protective circle of his arms. “That’s it, let it out, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.” 

“I don’t understand,” Benjamin admitted. 

Jeremiah petted his hair. “I know,” he said, and rocked him like the scared child he had been.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short for that narrative flow~

“Jeremiah!” a man’s voice screamed in the darkness. Benjamin and Jeremiah shot awake all at once, used to the occasional emergency that would wake them. Loud knocking shook the sturdy wood door. The sound of dogs barking in the distance could be heard, drawing nearer. The handle of the door was being twisted, shaken, to no avail. 

“Jeremiah! Please,” the man called. Jeremiah stood. The dirt beneath him was chill, though the worst of the long winter had passed. He made a movement towards the door, but Benjamin’s hand shot out from the bed, gripping his wrist, stilling him. 

“Jeremiah,” Benjamin said, too alert for the hour. “Can you hear the dogs?” 

Jeremiah pulled away, but Benjamin held him fast, surprisingly strong. “He is a runaway,” Benjamin said steadily. “The snow has melted, and the dogs will find him. It’s too late.”

“You can’t be certain of that,” Jeremiah snapped. The man continued to cry out, and the sound pained him. He was a healer, and he lived by a code. 

“If you let him in here,” Benjamin said, soft and intense, “they will come, they will find him, and they will hang you for aiding him. There is nothing you can do.” 

Jeremiah closed his eyes. “Run,” he shouted out to the man. But the knocking had already stopped several moments ago. The slave, having failed to find shelter, had made his way to the forest. 

“It’s too late,” Benjamin said. His tone was cold, his eyes distant. The dogs were only a handful of feet away, one running to bark at the cabin door. The violent cacophony of the others faded as the rest moved into the forest, the men close behind them. 

Jeremiah rounded on him, his rage and helplessness surfacing in a mean snarl. “How can you care so little?” he shouted, and shook his hand out of Benjamin’s grip. He grabbed his shoulder, shook it. “How can you remain so unaffected while a man pleads for his life?” 

Benjamin went still, shook off Jeremiah’s hand. “I am not unaffected,” he said, tone impassive. A single sharp knock sounded at the door. 

“Open this door!” the overseer shouted. Benjamin stood quickly, crossed the room. “Now, slave!” the man barked. Jeremiah stood stock still. 

Benjamin disengaged the bolts, swung open the door. A dog came bolting in, growling at his feet, then running through the cabin, knocking over bottles of salve as it went. A few broke on the floor, the tinkle of shattered glass loud in the silence. Benjamin raised his hands. 

Two overseers burst into the room behind the dog, shouting. “Is he here? Did you allow him inside?” They pulled open the dresser, overturned the partitions, stripped the beds and flipped the mattresses. Jeremiah and Ben stood silently, moving to allow them past. 

“Did you see where he went?” one of the overseers snarled, grabbing Benjamin, whose hands were still raised, palms out, his gaze deferentially lowered. 

“We did not, sir,” Benjamin said demurely. “We did not open the door.” 

The overseer pushed him to the floor, and knocked over a line of bottles in frustration. Then they left in a whirl, the dog following behind them, to join the others in the forest. 

The door swung silently from the momentum for several moments, allowing the night chill into the cabin. Benjamin stood, dusted himself off, and drew the door shut, sliding the bolts home. 

“I will clean the floor in the morning,” he said simply, “when it is easier to see the shards of glass.”

Jeremiah stared at him, feeling his anger dissipate, and something hollow take its place. He crossed the room, and reached out to Ben. “Benjamin, I-“

Benjamin moved easily away from his touch, a small movement, his own arm rising like a parry. “Do not touch me,” he said, and went to his own bed, replacing the sheets.


	6. Chapter 6

Spring came slowly. The days grew longer, and the earth awoke tentatively, the first light green shoots bitten by frosts, then the next, till they grew into the delicate stalks of the herbs that would fill the small garden behind Jeremiah’s cabin. 

Benjamin was tending to them with a child swaddled in his arms, occasionally switching her from side to side as each arm tired. She made a delighted string of noises when he plucked a yellow weed for her, and he tickled her with a smile. 

The day was the warmest they’d had yet, the sky bright above him, the shadows of new leaves on the trees surrounding the cabin darkling the ground. He bounced the baby on his hip when she fussed, absorbed in his work, soothed by the background chatter of her mother and Jeremiah conversing in the cabin. 

The baby grabbed Benjamin’s ear, and he laughed, disentangling her. 

“You’re looking well, boy,” a man’s voice said suddenly behind him, and Benjamin froze. 

“Master,” Benjamin replied, dropping as low to the ground as he could to bow with the child in his arms. 

“Who’s this?” the Master said, smiling at the baby, giving her a little wave. 

“Her name is Abigail, Master,” he replied, eyes lowered. 

“Hello, Abigail,” the Master cooed, and Abigail hid her face in Benjamin’s chest. 

“I apologize, Master,” Benjamin said hurriedly, “she is a very shy child-.”

“No matter,” the Master waved, “it is how children are.” 

“Master,” Benjamin said, “might I be of assistance to you?”

“Oh, no,” the Master said, “I am merely walking the grounds, enjoying the air. Good day, boy.” 

“Good day, Master,” Benjamin replied automatically, and bowed again. The Master disappeared as quickly as he’d come, vanishing into the grounds, guards behind him. Benjamin moved back to the garden, and sat on the soft grass, rocking the baby in his shaking arms. He stared at spindled lobes of one of the leaves of the plants in front of him. Light green, veins running from the center, central vein thick with cuticle, joining with the stalk- 

The baby was crying in his arms. Blue sky above, soft grass and wet dirt below, the smell of freshly-turned earth. His hands shook as he pulled her away to look at her. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, but could not bring himself to stand for a few more seconds. Jeremiah's conversation with the mother continued inside, heedless. 

*

Benjamin picked up the kettle from the fireplace, realized he’d already poured it, then set it down. He went to clean the dishes, scrubbing them with vigor. He picked up one of Jeremiah’s books on salves, sounded the words aloud as he paced the corner of the cabin. 

“I’ll ask you again,” Jeremiah said from his chair, eyes following Ben over his mug of tea, “what is wrong?” 

Benjamin shook his head. He paced the cabin for a few more steps, then set the book down. He went to Jeremiah, sat in his lap, legs on either side of his waist, and pressed at his lips, demanding. He began to pull rapidly at the buttons on Jer’s shirt, breaking his frantic kisses only to pull it over his head. Jeremiah tried to slow the kisses, but to no avail. Ben palmed Jeremiah’s cock through his trousers, and worked on the button. Jeremiah gasped and pulled back, holding Ben’s hands to still them. 

“Slow down,” Jeremiah said, puzzlement in his voice. “There’s no need to rush.” 

“No,” Benjamin said quickly, “I want it like this. I want you to fuck me.” Ben stood to undo his own trousers, pulling them off entirely, then sat back in Jeremiah’s lap, naked and restless. He leaned in to recapture their kisses, and Jeremiah pulled back again. 

“Right now?” he asked, attempting to hold Benjamin still again. Ben made a frustrated noise. “Shh,” he said, “we should talk about this, Benjamin.” He hadn’t fucked Benjamin yet. He'd taken care to move slowly, reminding Benjamin again and again that fucking him was not necessary to satisfy Jeremiah. He'd tested Ben's ability to say no when he felt uncomfortable, to communicate with Jeremiah. He’d started fingering the boy recently when he asked for it, usually one finger, sometimes two. 

It had led to several instances of Benjamin at first begging to be fingered, then going limp like a rag doll when he was touched. It frightened Jeremiah, and he was always watching for the signs that Ben had left him, quick to stop and speak softly until he returned. This frantic need in the hesitant, reserved boy was unprecedented. 

Benjamin opened Jer’s trousers. “I don’t want to talk,” he said stubbornly, and Jeremiah’s hips jerked at the boy’s touch on his cock. Benjamin pulled his trousers further down his legs, moved the waistband of his underwear until it rested beneath his balls. Jeremiah’s breathing picked up. Benjamin dropped to his knees on the dirt floor, mouth level with Jeremiah’s cock between his spread knees. 

“Stop,” Jeremiah managed, and Ben looked up at him, as sweet and needy as Jer always loved, but with some unsettling undercurrent of desperation. 

“I don’t want to talk,” Benjamin said, and his tone was pleading now. “I don’t want to think. Please. I need you inside me.” He looked up through the sweep of his lashes, nearly quivering with leashed energy. 

Jeremiah laid a heavy palm over the boy’s head, stroked his hair. Benjamin’s eyes fell shut, and he whined. It was uncharacteristic of him to make any noise until he was close to orgasm, unable to filter himself. Something was wrong; he was scared, shaken. 

“Are you doing this to appease me?” Jeremiah questioned, stern. “Will you forgo your own well-being if you are uncomfortable?”

“No,” Benjamin said, and his eyes were clear of any hesitation, even if they were beginning to take on that haze of lost pleasure Jeremiah had learned to distinguish from his blank, nervous expression. “I want you.” 

“You may have me,” Jeremiah said, and guided Ben’s head gently forward, onto his dick. He leaned back and groaned as the boy worked him expertly, worshipping his cock with his lips and tongue. Benjamin looked up at him, and Jer carded his fingers through his hair, pressing at the back of his head to guide him, but not to choke him. 

Ben deep-throated him in one smooth motion, groaned as Jer’s hips jerked in surprise. Jer cursed and tried to control his thrusting despite Benjamin’s insistent encouragement to fuck his throat. Suddenly, Benjamin pulled off, dashed away. Jer sat there with his dick hanging out of his trousers, fully hard, dumbstruck. 

Benjamin returned with a bottle of lubricant, and straddled Jer’s hips with his lithe, naked body, letting Jeremiah’s cock rub against the crack of his ass. He poured the lubricant onto three of his fingers and harshly pressed them inside himself, hastily prepping his hole. 

Jeremiah took both of Ben’s wrists in one broad hand, and covered one of the fingers of the other in the lubricant. “Shh,” he soothed, running the finger between Benjamin’s legs, over his hole, “it’s been too long since you were last taken for you to move so quickly.” He pressed the finger into Ben’s hole, where it slid in easily. Benjamin’s legs were shaking atop his. “It’ll hurt, if you aren’t prepared more slowly.” He pumped the finger inside Ben for a while, hoping he’d calm. No such luck. 

“I want it to,” Benjamin gasped. “I want it to hurt. I want to feel it. Please, just take me.” 

“Not for our first time,” Jeremiah said firmly, and coated two fingers in lubricant, still holding Ben’s wrists in the other hand. He pressed two fingers at Ben’s entrance, and the boy fucked down onto them. 

“Are you here with me?” Jeremiah asked, keeping the rhythm of his fingers steady. It was the most he’d ever gotten inside the boy, not to mention the most expression he’d ever seen from him. “Are you ok?”

Benjamin opened his eyes, looked directly into his. It was stunning, bold. “I’m with you,” he replied, and disentangled one of his hands to move between his legs, press three of Jeremiah’s lubricated fingers together. He pushed the three thick fingers inside of him with a groan. “Keep me here,” he hissed, pupils blown. 

“Shh,” Jeremiah said again, enamored by the change that had come over him. The flush on Benjamin’s chest, the restless movements of his hips as he fucked himself, the stark emotion in his expression. Then Benjamin pulled Jer’s fingers away, and his cock thrusted over the slick entrance. He swallowed. 

“Lean up,” Jeremiah stuttered, and the boy went easily, pressing against his chest, arching his back to display his hole, spreading his legs as widely as he could. Jeremiah gripped the base of his cock, the flared head fitting nicely outside of Ben’s slick, stretched entrance. 

“Fuck me,” Benjamin said, half growl and half pleading, and Jeremiah pressed in. The sweet, tight heat of him was overwhelming, so different from Benjamin’s soft mouth or his delicate hand, and he panted as he tried to slow himself so as not to hurt the boy. 

Then Benjamin gripped Jeremiah’s shoulders, leveraged himself up, and fucked himself down onto Jer’s cock in one rough motion, shaking as he bottomed out. It had to hurt him, make him sore, and the boy was biting his lip fiercely, but his head was tipped back in pleasure as he moaned. He fucked himself on Jeremiah’s cock and Jer simply held to the arms of the seat as the boy rode him, lost in how good it felt to be deep inside his tight, warm body. 

“Gods,” Jeremiah moaned, “good boy, are you ok, oh god.” Benjamin lifted himself until the tip of Jeremiah’s cock was inside him, then dropped back down. Jeremiah growled and grabbed his hips, keeping him still. He moved Benjamin forward to change the angle and leaned in to kiss him deeply, swallowing Ben’s shocked moans of pleasure. 

“Oh,” Benjamin sobbed, “please, please, Jeremiah.” He went lax, let Jeremiah fuck into him, let him make it feel good. Jeremiah kissed him again. 

“Good boy,” he soothed, and he could feel Benjamin finally relaxing. “That’s it, you’re doing so well, are you going to come for me?” 

Jeremiah worked Benjamin’s cock, half-hard now with the angle of Jer’s thrusts, before completely forgotten. Ben’s breath hitched as Jeremiah worked him over, and Jer could feel his hole clenching as he came with a sob, coating Jer’s stomach with his cum. 

Jeremiah fucked into him for a while longer while Benjamin hung on, fingernails digging into his shoulders and making small noises as he took it. Finally, he came with one last, deep thrust, filling him. Benjamin gripped tight as Jer came down, hiding his face in the side of his neck. 

Jer moved to withdraw from the boy, and Benjamin grabbed Jeremiah's arms tighter, pushed them to encircle him. 

“Please,” he said, quiet and unsure, and Jer complied. He remained inside the boy, hiding him in his arms, kissing the top of his head. 

He wasn’t sure what had brought this about, but he was sure of one thing. Benjamin was deeply afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all of your comments! :)


	7. Chapter 7

The mysterious restlessness passed as soon as it had come, and the next morning Benjamin was back at work with steady hands. If he was more productive than usual, then the spring had brought with it more chores to be done.

Three days of warmth, sunshine, and walks through the forest passed, and both Benjamin and Jeremiah gained color from the cheerful, calm weather.

On the third evening, there was a knock at the door. Benjamin turned towards it, frozen in place. Jeremiah stood to answer it.

One of the house slaves stood in his clean white garments, frowning at the dirt. “The Master wishes to see the boy whore,” he said, peering into the cabin.

“Benjamin?” Jeremiah asked, confused. “Why does he wish to see him? Did he request my presence?”

Benjamin appeared in the background, moving mechanically towards the door.

The house slave’s brows knit together. “The Master wishes to see him because he wishes to see him. He did not request your presence.” He looked past Jeremiah. “Come, whore,” he commanded, and Benjamin went.

“Benjamin,” Jeremiah said desperately, “why does the Master want to see you?”

Benjamin gripped his shoulder, and followed the house slave out.

*

When Benjamin returned, it was nearly dawn. He was in the same style of short, white garment he’d originally come to Jeremiah’s cabin in. It had seemed like a very long time ago, but now Jeremiah remembered it like it was yesterday, the way Benjamin had held himself, his closed expression. He stank of sex, and was still covered in it. His face was painted, lips rouged, kohl lining his eyes. Jeremiah was silent.

“The Master has allowed me to continue my duties here,” he said woodenly, “as he has heard I have been of use. I am to come to be of service when he calls me.” Benjamin moved to the bathing area, not bothering to slide back the partition to hide himself. He sat in front of their small, warped mirror, and picked up a cloth.

“He commends you on the fine job you have done with me,” Benjamin continued, and Jeremiah felt the ground tilt beneath him.

“Benjamin,” he interrupted, “I had no idea he, gods, I would never-.”

Benjamin waved it away. “I know. I did not say you did.” He stared silently at the mirror, both of them barely breathing, Jeremiah standing in shock.

Suddenly, Benjamin’s expression twisted in disgust, and he slammed his fist into the mirror, breaking it in a cascade of wicked shards. His hand began to bleed freely from an array of gashes, and Jeremiah hurried to him.

“Benjamin!” he said, worried, and Benjamin paled, dropping to the floor, bowing as low to the dirt as he could.

“I’m- I’m sorry sir,” he stuttered, “I have no idea what came over me, I’m sorry.” His voice was vacant, his eyes glassy, apparently unable to stop the flow of words. Jeremiah crouched low the floor.

“Shh,” Jeremiah said, “I’m sorry, I’m not mad. Benjamin, please.” He couldn’t help it. He knew it was selfish, but he was frightened. He extended his hand slowly, pressing at Ben’s shoulders until he sat up, empty like a pretty doll.

Jeremiah went to get his kit, a cloth, and some antiseptic. He crouched back down to the floor, cleaning the bleeding hand gently.

“It’s ok,” Jeremiah said softly, running the antiseptic over the hand, holding the cloth to it for a while. He lifted it. “This one needs stitches, sorry love.” He sanitized the needle and stitched him quickly, tying and clipping the string.

Benjamin shuddered. “No, it’s not,” he said. Then he stood suddenly, running to grab a bucket. He bent over it, heaving. Jeremiah sat quietly beside him, lost. When Ben sat up, his eyes were wet.

“God,” Benjamin said, scrubbing at them fiercely, looking ashamed. He was curled over his stomach, and ducked to hide from Jeremiah.

Jeremiah reached a hand toward him, and Benjamin shook him off. Tears fell from his eyes when he blinked, knuckles white where his hands clutched around his knees.

“Please, let me help,” Jeremiah asked plaintively, at a loss.

“Pathetic,” Benjamin ground out, wiping again at his face, smearing the kohl.

Jeremiah attempted to reach out to him again, and Benjamin allowed it. “I don’t want to be pitied,” he said, rocking on his heels, but he leaned into the touch.

Jeremiah moved closer, wrapped an arm around his body, tense as a line about to snap. He ran his palm in circles over his shoulder, aware of the shaky ground he stood upon, but just as sure that this was the correct thing to do.

“If you’ve been violated… raped,” the word sounded harsh in the small space, “it’s understandable, it’s human to express pain.”

Benjamin laughed, an ugly sound. “A whore cannot be raped.”

*

Two days later, the Master called for him again. Then the day after that. Then the next. Each time he was called, he left without fuss, returned, cleaned himself, and went back to work.

Benjamin dwindled rapidly, first jumping at odd things- a flash of metal, a rustle of cloth, barely sleeping. He would have long stretches of blankness disrupted by bursts of anger or fear. In the course of a couple of weeks, the blankness took over. Jeremiah was living with a ghost.

At first, his attempts at comfort were accepted, Benjamin curling into him at night like he was his last moor to earth. Then Benjamin began to firmly push him away. For hours, he would lay on his cot, unblinking, staring at nothing. His breathing was so slow that Jeremiah would watch carefully to see the rise and fall of his chest.

Jeremiah tried again to sit beside him, to slowly bring a hand to his hair to pet. It had been Benjamin's favored means of being soothed, and he'd taken to lying in Jeremiah's lap making small pleased noises, trusting. He had not done so for several weeks, and Jeremiah longed to touch him, missing their closeness. Benjamin moved away, and this time he sat up, looking at Jer.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and in a rare moment of emotion he sounded truly kind. “I cannot. It makes it more difficult.” He moved pointedly back. “It’s better, this way.”

“What can I do?” Jeremiah pleaded. Benjamin shook his head.

“You cannot. This has been a lifetime coming. I’ve always known it.”

Jeremiah felt a cold stab of fear. “Known what?”

Benjamin looked at him with compassion. “I’m very tired,” he said.

Jeremiah’s face must have betrayed him, because Benjamin clasped one of his hands. “Thank you, for everything you’ve shown me,” he said. “I might have gone my entire life never knowing how it felt, and I’m glad for it.”

“No,” Jeremiah said, instinctively rebelling.

“I’m sorry to see you hurt,” Benjamin said gently.

“No,” Jeremiah said, “it took me a long while, but I understand. I’ve seen the trees in winter, the way they drop their leaves, look cold and devoid of life. But that’s only the surface of the tree; inside, they are alive. Their roots grow deep. And when the conditions are favorable, when the spring comes, they will bloom again.”

Benjamin laughed. “It is spring, Jeremiah. I am not a tree, but a lake, perched over a dark drain. And I do not wish to see who I might become.” He took a breath. “I would like to sleep, now.” He rolled away from Jeremiah, curling onto his side.

*

Jeremiah could feel time pass, too slow and too fast all at once. Benjamin was outside, tending the garden. The master would likely call him tonight. Jeremiah made a decision. He could not face one more night of Benjamin coming back, walking stiffly, empty as he could make himself.

Jeremiah strode out the door, towards the Master’s house. Benjamin came around the corner, looked at him questioningly.

“I will return,” Jeremiah said shortly, and left before Benjamin could reply.

Jeremiah and the Master had always had a relationship built on some level of trust and respect, as much as one’s Master could respect a slave. He’d worked to make himself known, to provide the best care he could, to continually improve himself. He was an asset to the Master’s property, not easily replaced. He had some leverage in the way he spoke to the Master, and if there was a way, any way he could save Benjamin, he had to try. He could no longer stand by and watch, helpless.

“Jeremiah,” the Master greeted with a distracted smile, “I was told you desired to speak to me? I believe the seeds that you requested will arrive by ship within a month.”

“Master,” Jeremiah said, bowing. “Thank you. It is about the boy, actually. My assistant, Benjamin.”

“Yes,” the Master said, and his tone took on a note of warning.

“Master,” Jeremiah said, trying to keep the pleading from his voice, “he is not well. I fear for him.”

“Yes, he has always been an uppity whore,” the Master sighed. “I attempted to break him of it, but he only became more frigid. He’s obedient when it suits him, but… I believe he thinks himself better than his position.” He capped a pen he’d been writing with. “It’s a shame, really. I paid quite a lot for him.”

Jeremiah had, in the past, thought his Master better than many others, that he was comparatively fortunate to have ended up where he had. Perhaps that belief had been protective.

“Master,” Jeremiah said desperately, “he’s a sensitive boy. His fear may disguise itself as disobedience, of a kind.” It felt like a betrayal to reveal as much, but he needed to say it. Perhaps, if the Master could see.

The Master smiled. “Jeremiah, I know you’ve developed a soft spot for the boy. He is an excellent whore, once you loosen him up. Well trained. But his frigidity, his unwillingness to serve cannot be coddled.”

Jeremiah felt the last threads of hope slipping from him. “Master, you cannot continue like this. The boy will kill himself.”

“Jeremiah,” the Master said, cold. “I realize that I have afforded you certain privileges because of your value to my estate, but do not forget that you and the boy are my property. And I will do with my property as I like.” He looked back to his papers. “Go chain yourself to the whipping post. I will be there shortly.”

Jeremiah nodded, shaken. He felt his gaze flicking back and forth through the Master’s things as he left the study, finally landing on the heavy metal safe before he left. He walked outside, tied himself to the post, and remained there. An hour passed in a haze, other slaves and overseers walking past him as he waited.

Finally, the master came with the whip. He flayed Jeremiah till his shirt tore and blood ran down his back. Then he undid the chains, and patted him on the shoulder to go.

*

Benjamin was waiting when Jeremiah returned, pale and restless. When Jeremiah entered the cabin, Benjamin visibly relaxed.

“Where-“ he said, and then he saw his back. He drew in a sharp breath.

“Jeremiah!” he called, shocked. He herded him to the bed, laid him down on his front. Jeremiah could hear him bustling about the cabin. In short order, his shirt had been cut off, and Benjamin was staring at his flayed back.

“Gods,” Benjamin said, and it sounded like a sob. “What did you do?” His deft hands worked to clean the wounds.

“You can’t ask me to watch you die,” Jeremiah cut back.

“You don’t have any say,” Benjamin said shortly, and Jeremiah was perversely glad for the emotion in his voice, any emotion. “Bringing yourself down with me is foolish.”

“I don’t care,” Jeremiah replied honestly.

Benjamin drew back. “I do!” he shouted. Jeremiah had never heard him shout. “If you truly cared for me, you would not make this harder by throwing yourself down like a killdeer!”

“We have to escape,” Jeremiah said, in shock but remarkably clear. “It’s the only way.”

“Jeremiah!” Benjamin hissed fearfully. He looked towards the door, as if he expected the overseers to burst in that minute. “Please, stop this.” He resumed his ministrations, rapidly cutting bandages, securing them.

“I know a man, who I met once in the forest. If we pay him, we can make our way across the border, where our enslavement is illegal.”

“Please, Jeremiah,” Benjamin pleaded in a whisper, looking at the door again. “They will hang you, and I couldn’t bear it.”

“Because you love me,” Jeremiah said. “I know. I feel the same.”

Benjamin shook his head. “I’m so sorry,” he said finally, and then he closed off.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for suicidal thoughts

It was midday when a man came through the door, looking for Benjamin. He was not from the Master’s house. He had a nickel pendant, with the head of a mountain lion. He rapped loudly on the side of the house, waking Jeremiah, who groaned as the pain in his back roared to life. 

“Whore,” the man called out, moving to the open door. Benjamin only sighed. “I’ve come back for you,” the man sang, eyes searching the dark interior. He saw Benjamin, and smiled. “There you are. Word is that you got your poor boyfriend laid up." He stepped inside, moving with a predator's sure slowness. "It is true, yes? The healer has romantic feelings for his catamite.” 

Jeremiah moved to get up. Benjamin laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, stilling him. “What do you want?” Benjamin asked tiredly. 

“Well, before I would’ve gone for your mouth, but now I think I don’t trust your teeth.” The man gestured, lips rising in a smirk of assumed power. “Strip, and lie on the bed, or I'll force you down rough.” 

“Over my dead body,” Jeremiah growled, but stayed where Benjamin kept him. 

“You’re not the Master’s favorite pet anymore,” the man mused, facing Jeremiah now. “Don’t think he’ll mind if I rough you up a bit more, then fuck your boy in front of you.” 

Jeremiah stood then, and Benjamin smoothly placed his own body in front of him. “You will not hurt him,” Benjamin said to the man, ice in his tone. 

The man scoffed. “The little whore’s making threats now? You’re gonna scream on my dick, bitch,” he laughed, and charged him. 

Within seconds he was reeling back, gaping, a hand pressed to his stomach. Benjamin had opened his switchblade and stabbed him, two fast jabs to the gut. Blood flowed over the man’s fingers, a deep red. 

Benjamin roughly pressed a heavy piece of cloth into his hands, along with a small bottle. “Keep pressure on the wound,” he said in a distant, professional voice, “take this, and pray. Or not. I don’t care.” He stood next to Jeremiah. “You say the Master favors us less now. For you, however, he spares none of his favor; of this, I am certain. So I will say this: leave now, or we will kill you.” 

The man left, pale with shock, pressing at his wound. He had nothing to say; Benjamin was, of course, right. The Master would not value a field slave who stirred up so much trouble, and would likely have encouraged his slaves to settle the matter amongst themselves. Jeremiah sat back down on the bed, eyes following Benjamin as he went to shut the door. 

“Lay down,” Benjamin ordered. “You’ll open your wounds.” He sat next to Jeremiah on the bed and sighed, then suddenly moved so Jeremiah’s head lay in his lap, his fingers carding through his hair. They were silent for a few long moments. 

“You will need money,” Benjamin said suddenly, “to pay the man in the forest.” 

Jeremiah cleared his throat. “Yes,” he replied hoarsely. 

Benjamin nodded. “There are jewels, where the whores are dressed. I imagine the worth of any piece I might steal would be more than enough to pay the way. We would have a small window of time before its absence was noticed, and I was tracked to be hanged.” 

“I would rather I stole,” Jeremiah offered, “and keep you from harm.” 

“Tough,” Benjamin said shortly. “If you insist on forcing my will to live, you will have to let me face my own perils. That is my condition. If I am captured, and hanged, and you are spared.” He looked down at Jeremiah, serious. “You must live without me. Promise me.” 

Jeremiah was silent. 

“I will not negotiate this,” Benjamin said. “You must promise me.” 

“I promise,” Jeremiah replied quietly. 

*

The small room where the bed slaves prepared themselves was quiet, compared to the bustle of the party. Benjamin waited for another moment, listening for approaching footsteps. None came. It seemed that Benjamin alone would be called upon for the night’s entertainment. Given the number of guests he’d discreetly passed as he entered through the slave’s side door, he dreaded the task. It was difficult to stem his mind's whispered option of release, knives and a drain of blood, his body following his mind down. To fight no more, to hurt no more, to not once again force his tired mind and body to cope. 

Benjamin set the stick of kohl down. Still, that animal need to survive at any cost persisted. If not for himself, for his dirtied body and unreliable mind, then for the look in Jeremiah’s eyes that had begged him to rise again. So he would, once more, laughable odds though he had. In either passivity or resistance lay death; he might struggle at the noose more than a wrist slitting, but it would take choice to fight out of his hands. He would be able to rest knowing he had done what he could. 

Benjamin lifted two elegant chokers, crafted from precious metals and studded with gems, then slid them into his rucksack. He finished his face, shook his short shift. Whores were meant to be objects of desire, their beauty flawless, their bodies willing. Sticks of green makeup followed by flesh tones to cover bruising, bleach to maintain the white of their robes, speech clear and pleasant to the ear. He smiled in the mirror. Effortlessness was exhausting work. He took the jar of lubricant, hitched up his shift, and leaned forward so that he might finish. 

He had four fingers inside himself when Annabel came into the room, over to the counter to begin fixing her makeup. Benjamin continued preparing himself, though he had only just kept from flinching when she had come in. As his heart pounded with the certainty his theft would be noticed, he felt the animal instinct cry out, offering him the energy to escape. He wanted to live. Gods help him, but in this moment he wanted many things with a fierceness he hadn’t allowed since his training, since he had realized hope crippled and maimed. 

She took out a sponge to wipe away some accumulated oils. He stood to go, and she turned to catch his wrist. 

“Stay with me another moment,” she said, powder brush in hand. “If you go out there now, you will be the focus of their attentions. Better to divide it between us.” 

He sat. 

“The healer, he went to the Master on your behalf,” she said as she continued her preparations, laying a moisturizing cream over the edges of her eyes, then a liquid concealer overtop. 

It was a statement. He did not answer. 

“I have watched you, in your time here,” she said steadily. “I have watched many bed slaves. We are not so different from one another. Each of us has been taken from those who protected and cared for us, and we have had to learn our own small means of protection, yes?” 

“Yes,” Benjamin said, confused and startled into honesty. 

She nodded. “The methods you must use to be the Master’s _puer delicatus_ , alone and vulnerable as I am, may harm you outside this place.” She sat the kohl down, and faced him directly. “Not many of us have the opportunity to be an _eromenos_.”

“I’m sorry,” Benjamin said honestly, “I’m not sure I understand.” 

“I will risk myself, and say that I saw nothing tonight.” Benjamin could feel his breathing catch, hold. “This is my advice, such as I can give freely- after tonight, forget what you have learned to survive this life.” 

He stared at her. She extended a hand to where he sat. 

“They are drinking heavily tonight. Your detachment will not be minded by the less alert.” Her hand pulled him to his feet. “I hope, after they have fallen asleep, that I will never see you again.” 

“Thank you,” Benjamin said, and took his rucksack to the door for Jeremiah. Then he let himself be groped by the sweaty hands of drunk strangers, mind falling into himself as the ache between his legs intensified, in the way of the powerless and alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some dead languages, man, gotta use them some time. They are 100% googleable I promise.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the long absence! benjamin recently came back to me, and i have the rest of this story plotted. will likely finish this weekend. feedback much appreciated <3

The cabin door shuts behind Jeremiah, and the room is empty. 

Benjamin draws water for a bath, heats it, douses the fire. He strips the kohl from his face for the last time, no matter the outcome of the events to come. It’s still light when he’s scrubbed the flaking remnants of other men on his body. He dresses himself, and pulls the kitchen chair to the middle of the room. 

Soft spring light is filtering through the window, dust motes caught in the beams. It’s warm, peaceful. It’s a place he’s never experienced a significant horror in, a home that sheltered him. He closes his eyes, and feels the room as he breathes. It’s time to say goodbye. 

He finds himself moving towards the wooden logs of the walls, lovingly sanded time and again by Jeremiah. The lower levels are particularly smooth, so curious children wouldn’t collect splinters in their fingers. It’s a small thing that speaks volumes. 

There’s the sealant that kept out the winter chill, smooth and dry. The quilt Benjamin sewed when there was little else to do during the long winter. It all has to remain behind. 

The cicadas begin to whir from the edge of the forest. A thick humid mist rises from the ground, and fireflies blink in and out, blurry orbs of light. His mother would have said they were bright souls, coming to protect them. She never saw any harm in a little fantasy to get by. 

The rucksack is ready by the door. Benjamin lifts it and straps it to his back. It’s precious cargo; they may leave the plants behind in the garden for whoever might inherit them, but he has the seeds, thousands of them. The big, heavy door glides smoothly on oiled hinges, and he goes to set the lock- but of course he shouldn’t turn the key. He won’t be back. He sets the latch for appearance’s sake. 

It won’t be long before some hapless house servant will notice the missing jewels and alert the master, fearing for their lives if they do not. 

Benjamin kisses his palm, then touches it to the sturdy door, that holds him up in return. He walks into the forest, and begins to make the miles long journey toward the road. 

He’s aware Jeremiah should have come back to him by now. It doesn’t matter; he’s gone too far to turn back. 

He hears a sharp bark in the distance. It could be nothing. 

He hears another. Then another. 

He’s only roughly a mile and a half from the road. There’s no way he can possibly outrun them, but he certainly can’t outwalk them either. He sprints, dry dead branches snapping loudly beneath his feet. It helps to orient the dogs, and their excited barking becomes louder as they circle in on their prey. Benjamin’s heart pounds, he gasps for breath, his hands shake as he grabs the satchel on his waist and rips it away, pulling back the fabric. He can’t look behind himself. It sounds as if the dogs are nipping at his heels, their whines echoing through the silent forest. 

He nearly stumbles and breaks his ankle on the ditch when he finally finds it. He dug it only last week, but the banks are soft, eroding. He throws the unwrapped meat from the satchel down into the center, takes the jar in his left hand and upends it over the meat. 

He hears a loud snarl, and backs away slowly. He turns. 

No less than six dogs have converged on the pit Benjamin stands on the opposite side of. Their curved teeth glow white in the darkness as their lips pull back, noses twitching. One dog stumbles down into the pit, bites at the meat. There’s not enough for six of them. They’re charged, ready to bite, drag their prey home. They all descend at once, and Benjamin hears a loud yelp as he backs away from the edge of death. 

_Walk, do not run,_ he hears Jeremiah’s voice in his head. The dogs are busy snuffling the dried, ground hot pepper into their noses, dulling their scent, but as of now they can still see him. A terrified, running prey is far more exciting than a dead slab of meat. 

Benjamin breathes in, he breathes out. He walks until he is out of sight. He is only a mile from the road. He sprints again, lungs screaming in pain, muscles shaking. He can see the gravel, and he pushes himself harder. 

The packed dirt of the road is stead under his feet. It’s quiet. The road is empty. 

Many times, he has heard stories of smugglers who decide to take a slave’s stolen possessions, to kill the slave if the payment is particularly good, to truss him up and return him to his owner for a bounty if it is not. 

He runs up the road, towards the town. He hears barking in the distance. It’s over, but even now he can’t stop fighting. Jeremiah can’t be dead. Benjamin wishes he believed in prayer, though despite that there is still something he believes that keeps his feet running. 

There is a covered carriage on the road, coming forward at a fast pace. It could certainly be one of the master’s, or that of a neighboring household, having heard the news and looking for sport. He doesn’t hide; he walks to the middle of the road, and stands. 

The carriage stops short, and the man holding the reins looks him over coldly. “Bad night to be out on your own,” he says, and Benjamin does not move. 

A face pokes out behind the man, so wonderfully familiar that Benjamin starts running. He enters the carriage, and Jeremiah extends his hand, pulls him in. Ben moves into the unlit covered portion, and the carriage halts, turns. 

“We heard the dogs,” Jeremiah says, pale, patting Benjamin down as if checking for wounds. “I’m so sorry, I could not come back, or I fear this man may have just left, even with only half his pay.”

“He still might,” Benjamin noted. 

Jeremiah nodded. “He seems to not… be much bothered by the thought of carrying us over the border. He seems to, to do it quite often. To be honest, I prefer his apathy.” 

Benjamin nodded in return. It could be far worse. 

“Here,” Jeremiah said, pulling up one of the floorboards. “This hatch could not be large enough to conceal a man of my size without arousing suspicion, but you-“

Benjamin peered into the space. It was smaller than a coffin might be- he would have to lie in feet first and breathe slowly.

“Once we reach the border,” Jeremiah added. 

“What about you?” Benjamin countered softly. 

Jeremiah kicked a large, half empty sack of grain surrounded by others. 

“What if there are dogs?”

Jeremiah hesitated. “Normally, there are not.” 

“Normally,” Benjamin repeated, incredulous. 

“The fates owe the both of us, I believe,” Jeremiah smiled. “I do know for certain they cannot afford to keep _trained_ dogs.”

Benjamin sighed, and gave his hair a tug. “Yes, I do feel better now.”


	10. Chapter 10

One of the wheels hit a portion of washed out road, and the carriage jerked. They were headed in the wrong direction. 

“Are we not going to the border?” Benjamin asked politely. 

The smuggler laughed. “Do you wish to die?”

Benjamin was silent, and the man flicked the reins to encourage one of his horses past yet another washed out pit. 

“We are following my route. The border crossing will currently be crawling with men looking to make a bounty on your heads.” 

It was anti-climactic, to have been so terrified, flushed with victory, then have the dread of waiting seep in. The back of the carriage filled with grain, and Jeremiah and Benjamin played small games to pass the time and take their minds off of the fear. 

After several nights had passed, their smuggler deemed it time. 

“Tomorrow morning,” he said curtly before they went to sleep. “When the checkpoints open.”

*

The carriage came into the town at first light. Jer encouraged Ben to eat in order to keep up his strength, but Ben only managed to nibble on a stale cracker. 

They were the seventh carriage in line, and it was not long before others lined up behind them in the crowded street. The first wheels rolled forward as the guards upturned crates of fabric, rapidly questioning the vehicle’s occupant. They moved forward. 

The fifth carriage held grains. Benjamin heard the whimper of a dog, and went still. 

“A town mutt?” he inquired. 

The smuggler’s face set. “No.” 

Benjamin glanced through the fabric enclosing the back of their carriage, and went still, felt his heart kick up hummingbird quick. It wasn’t possible; clearly this was something his mind had created from his previous terror. 

“I’ve seen some masters enraged that a slave might escape them,” the smuggler said, low, “but I’ve never witnessed one so determined to make an example of one.” 

The carriage moved on. There was only a three passenger carriage in front of them, now. 

“Get beneath the floorboards, Benjamin,” Jeremiah ordered from the bag of grain he had been covered in an hour ago. 

Benjamin scuttled to do so, overcome by the need to hide. 

“You may run, if you wish,” the smuggler said. Not to Benjamin. To Jeremiah. 

“I would make it three feet at best,” Jeremiah replied, his voice oddly flat. 

“I can get him across,” the smuggler said, certain. “No one has suspected that particular trick yet, and they will not if sufficiently distracted.”

“Yes,” Jeremiah’s voice floated down to Benjamin in the dark space he had wedged himself into, his nose touching the floorboards in front of his face. He attempted not to breathe too quickly. He felt the desire to strike out at the boards caging him in. 

“They may not find us,” Benjamin pleaded. 

“Our escort here can’t afford to see if we are caught,” Jeremiah’s disembodied voice instructed him firmly. “When you said I must live if you did not, I hope you’ll forgive me for thinking it was only fair if you promised the same.” 

“No,” Benjamin begged, his breath catching in his throat. There was not enough air in this cursed coffin. 

“Don’t forget you were loved. Hush, now.” 

“Morning gentlemen,” the smuggler said loudly, then dropped to a stage whisper. “I saw a man enter among my cargo this morning while I breakfasted. Great hulking brute. Likely a runaway. I’ve heard him shifting around back there. Thought it would be best if I allowed your men to handle him. 

“Uh huh,” the guard replied skeptically. 

There was a rustle, a clink. Paying off the guard. 

It happened fast. Jeremiah put up a fight, kicking and punching and shouting. No one noticed the dog circling the floorboards, his nails clicking over Benjamin’s frozen body. The dog soon forgot him anyhow in the excitement of the brawl. 

It happened so fast. One moment, he was eating supper with his mother and father, then the master’s men came for him, and what was once an illicit thing the master took him to do in secret would now be, at the will of the master, the nature of his service- he would never escape, except in death, the sweet bright edge of the knife so far from home-

When he came back to himself, the smuggler’s face was peering down at him, floorboards lifted. 

“There’s a town due west. You should seek a woman at the inn there, Maybel. You know how to follow the sun, yes?”

Benjamin nodded. Sweat rolled down his face- not sweat. He wiped hurriedly under his eyes, and stood on shaky legs. 

He got out of the carriage while the man watched him, and headed due east. 

“Your other west, boy,” the smuggler corrected, exasperated. 

“Yes,” Benjamin replied. “I understand.” He walked back toward the border, through a thicket of trees. No one would bother to search the forest for a potential slave coming _back_ to a country that had a legal slave trade. 

“There will be two dead runaways, then, when there would be one alive and free.” Benjamin did not pause. “He would not have wanted this,” the smuggler said, voice carrying. 

“He did not consult me on what it was he wanted,” Benjamin called back over his shoulder. He felt at peace. He did not have to contemplate a future on his own, or struggle to find a solitude protective enough that he might sleep. To be bitterly lonely while he fought his demons, afraid of a well-meaning touch. He would save both Jeremiah and himself, or he would save no one. 

*

It was almost saddening, how easily he made it over the river, past the turned backs of guards and into the town. He was nearly invisible among the bodies; someone’s boy, out running errands. If he shifted his demeanor, he did not look like a slave. He felt as if every eye was on him, every whisper a remark on his presence. 

Benjamin weighed produce in a covered market while he listened to the talk of a group of guards seated for lunch. He followed their gossip to the town prison. 

Jeremiah had not yet been given to the master’s men; only a dog had been left at this checkpoint while the men searched the unclaimed forests north of the master’s territory. It was not a bad strategy, Benjamin reflected; Jeremiah thought they could manage to hide there. But they had decided it was worse to live their lives in fear. 

Still, Benjamin calculated that the master’s men would have their news and be here by the morning, tomorrow noon at the latest. 

There was only one entrance to the prison, a sturdy stone block of the building. He must deal with the guards to get through. Even with a distraction, they would expect a diversion, and leave men to guard the building. 

Unless the guards did not have to leave the building to be distracted. 

*

Benjamin followed the town gossip with a sympathetic ear and kind smile. It did not take long to find his target. 

“New money,” the old woman kicked her swollen feet up on the bench, disgruntled. “He sells _liquor_ without a license, and expects us to smile at his fancy trappings on his straw home.” She spits on the ground, and Benjamin feels very fond of her. 

“Perhaps he thinks you do not notice,” Benjamin prompts, smiling and rolling his eyes. 

“Of course. He does not think!” She continues her tirade for another good half hour, then pauses to say she did not mean to keep him, dear, get back to your father with your pork now, enjoy your journey to your mother’s family. 

Though he looks younger than his true age, even then Benjamin is not quite so young as to be under the purview of his father. Still, it is not completely unheard of for a man of his age (and stature) to be a bachelor. 

The illicit wine seller’s home does look rather like some plastered straw walls covered in gauzy fabrics. It sprawls over an entire block of the town, gaudy. Benjamin spots the clothesline, checks his surroundings, then slips through the fence. 

There are indeed slave garments on the line, and Benjamin wonders how the fabric keeps the poor slaves warm. It is perfect for his intended purpose. 

There is a single lazy dog guarding the cellar that gives a single ignored bark. The master is inside, playing some form of rowdy game with a die. Benjamin befriends the dog with the pork, and slips into the cool cellar. If only the checkpoint’s hounds had been as poorly trained as this, as they should have been. 

Once he slips the slave’s tunic over his head, he becomes another person. He cradles the bottle of wine in the crook of his arm once he has prepared it for its purpose, and pulls on his best alluring smile. 

The guards look up as soon as he enters the room, their dull, bored eyes lighting up in interest. He can see Jeremiah from the corner of his eye, and silently begs him not to give any tells.

“It’s quite warm for such a late hour, is it not?” he remarks. 

“Who has sent you?” the guard seated in the center of the room demands. 

“Oh, Master Ellebrand,” Benjamin says with an apologetic smile. “He would like to… better our relationship.” 

The guard is silent, but does not appear to be offended. Benjamin feels some of the tension leave him, lets him hips sway and the fabric catch on his body as he moves forward, closer to the man. He puts the bottle on the table in front of the man, and licks his lips. 

“No less than once per month,” Benjamin says with a smile, and lets his legs fall open as he leans forward, palms flat on the table. 

“No less than twice per month,” the guard corrects, and Benjamin shakes his bangs into his eyes. The other two men in the corner are watching him closely. 

“A vintage like this takes time,” Benjamin reasons. “There would be no stores left, and no one to add to them. However,” Benjamin considered the layout of the room, and how the other men might watch him to his best advantage. He picked up the bottle, circled the table and lowered himself slowly to his knees, spreading them as widely as he could. “My master is pleased to offer other pleasures _far_ more frequently. 

The man looked down at him, apparently impassive but clearly enjoying the position of power. Benjamin let his throat bare as he looked up at the man from between his knees, pulled the cork on the wine bottle, sucked on the rim and tilted it as if it drink from it. 

The man snatched the bottle from him, and look a long swig. “I already must share this with two other men,” the guard tsked. 

Benjamin smiled, and raised his hands to cup the guard’s groin. “My master will be pleased. This should be a beneficial relationship for the both of us.” He worked the man’s fly open button by button, and pulled out his cock, making eye contact with the guards across the room. 

One stood and took the bottle from the man’s hands, and the other went to bolt the door. 

The guard’s cock engorged in Benjamin’s hand, and it was not particularly appealing. He lowered his mouth to suck, and the man above him grunted at the first suction of his lips, the wet smooth slide down the shaft. Benjamin made his sucking loud and sloppy so the others might hear, and heard the clink of the bottle. 

The guard wrapped his fingers in Benjamin’s hair and pulled firmly, sliding his cock into Benjamin’s throat. Ben made a choking noise for the man’s gratification, and his eyes prickled with the involuntary tears of the gagging. He did his best to breathe through his nose, and was quickly overcome but the stench of the man’s balls pressed up against his chin. 

The guard’s pace picked up, fucking his throat, and Benjamin looked up at him, letting the man see his distress. The guard cursed, pressed in deep enough to cut off Benjamin’s air and came, groaning at the involuntary contractions of his throat. 

When the man finally pulled himself from Benjamin, his softening cock dragging over his tongue, the bitter taste of his spunk filled Benjamin’s mouth, trickled over his lips. He licked them, looking down demurely. 

The man patted his cheek, as if congratulating him for a job well performed, and took the bottle back as another guard sat in the chair. 

Benjamin knew better than to play coy or tease at this point. He opened the man’s trousers, pulled his cock out, and sucked. 

Thankfully, he did not have to swallow this man’s ejaculation. The man had passed out cold. The first guard was nodding off against the wall. Benjamin pulled off the man’s cock, and watched the third guard as he stumbled. 

“Poison,” the third guard said thickly, and Benjamin stood, shaking his head. 

“That is quite dramatic,” he chided him, retrieving the cell keys from their loop on the wall. “It’s only a sedative.” The man hit the stone floor hard, and Benjamin winced. 

It took a couple tries before Benjamin managed to get the correct key into Jeremiah’s lock. 

“I would have had you go to your freedom,” Jeremiah said hoarsely. His face was covered in bruising, one eye swollen shut. “Not put yourself in a position to be harmed for me.” 

“Hush, you old fool,” Benjamin sighed, pulling open the cell door. “We need to move quickly.” 

Jeremiah sputtered. “I- I am barely just middle-aged!” That automatic retort distracted him long enough for Benjamin to herd him into the woods, where he changed clothing, rinsed his mouth out and spat. 

“I hope that man didn’t have the clap,” he said absently, lips curling in disgust. He retrieved the precious cargo of their seed rucksack from the roots of a tree. 

“Benjamin,” Jeremiah said, his voice breaking, “we will never make it over the border. You should have-“

“Nonsense,” Benjamin retorted shortly. “We know now that there is one competent dog, yes?”

Jeremiah thought for a moment. “Yes?” he said slowly. 

Benjamin rooted through his sack, and pulled up a small bottle. “What if she were to get a little sick, come morning?” 

Jeremiah’s lips rounded into a soft o, and Benjamin smirked, clapped him on the shoulder. “That is quite all right. Reward yourself, for you taught me well.” 

*

Drugging the poor beast was fairly simple. Unfortunately, the discovery of a group of drunken guards with their flies open and an escaped prisoner delayed the opening of the checkpoint. Benjamin felt as if he were vibrating out of his skin, as still and silent as he had to remain to be unnoticed among the cargo he had concealed himself in. He imagined the master’s men arriving with new dogs before they passed the checkpoint, that they might find him and Jeremiah even covered in fish as they were. 

The cargo of this particular carriage was fish. Benjamin had chosen it for the unlikelihood that the guards would desire to tip the barrels, and the ability of the scent to mask theirs. 

The loud groan of the checkpoint gates opening had Benjamin relaxing slightly, but they were eighth in line. If the master’s men arrived, their efforts would be for nothing, and they would both be dead. 

The carriages moved slowly. The sun had reached its zenith by the time he could hear the guards’ voices nearby. The carriage in front of them was now being inspected. In fifteen minutes or so, they might be free. 

A dog barked. Then another. Then another. 

Benjamin’s heart dropped to his toes. _Let us through,_ he prayed. _Five more minutes._

“STOP,” one of the guards called, and Ben felt himself go numb. There was no way he could ever win at this game. He did not have the power. He’d led them both to their deaths, and now Jeremiah would have to bear the burden of seeing Ben die, rather than believing in a noble sacrifice. He closed his eyes. 

Conversation continued for a moment outside the carriage, and eventually a dog skittered in energetically, huffing as it buried its nose in the first barrel of fish. 

Suddenly, the dog yelped. Benjamin heard the click of nails circling on the floor, then retreating. 

“Head on, Girard,” the guard called, and the fishmonger snapped at the reins. Time was surreal; five minutes passed in peace, then an hour. The fishmonger stopped at a town, the carriage coming to a halt. 

The carriage was silent for a few long minutes, then Jer stood in his bucket, dislodging fish and groaning. Ben stood, and felt sharp cramping pains shoot through his legs. He winced and shook them till he regained circulation, pins and needles racing through his limbs. 

Jer offered Ben a hand, and Ben took it. They made their way out of the carriage, slipped from the town, and entered the forest. After a few paces, Jeremiah pulled him into a hug.

“You brave, reckless idiot,” Jeremiah said thickly, patting him down fussily. 

Benjamin smiled against his chest. “You _reek_ ,” he returned.

Jeremiah pulled away, smiled back at him. “Enough to turn the even the dogs away?”

“I do not think so,” Benjamin mused. “However, if the poor thing had, say, his nostrils burnt by pepper only a few short days prior, and then had the salt of preserved fish rubbed into the wounds,” Benjamin tilted his head. 

“I know I’ve said this once before and cursed us,” Jer replied thoughtfully, “but I do believe the fates owe us a few more lucky hands.” 

“You only needed me to make the decisions,” Benjamin clapped him on the shoulder. “Luck is west.” He walked, and Jeremiah followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you didn't really think i was going to let Jer be nobly sacrificed, did you? ;)


	11. Chapter 11

When they made it to the inn, bedraggled and covered in the stench of fish, Maybel took one look at them and barked, “What can you do?”

“We are healers,” Jer replied smoothly, and her eyes smiled in relief. 

“Well, then,” she said simply. “You’ll do just fine.” 

*

Maybel had been in their situation once, a long time ago, though it was not common knowledge. She taught them the customs of their new country, how to find papers. Cautioned them that anyone near the border, former slave or not, might be kidnapped to be smuggled over and sold. 

They did not stay long before heading deep into the center of the country, into the wilder lands of the mountains where care was scarce and folks were relieved to see them. 

They found an unclaimed clearing, and Ben paused for a while, taking it in. 

Jer stood next to him, steady like the earth. “I suppose we need to build a house.” 

“Good thing you’ve already managed it once, then,” Benjamin replied, mapping the space in his mind. 

*

Jeremiah and Benjamin stumbled into the cabin covered in sweat and dirt, their muscles well-used and aching. The sun had just begun to set; the evenings were getting shorter as they cleared the land for gardening, prepared rows and boxes for herbs and vegetables in the coming spring. Soon, they would have to prioritize sealing the house against chill evenings. But not quite yet. 

Jeremiah heated the bath water, and Benjamin stumbled into a chair behind him. 

“Not on the cloth,” Jeremiah chided. 

Benjamin surveyed the room with one cracked eye. “Wood chair’s on the other side,” he huffed, and rolled onto the floor, limbs splayed. 

“We haven’t laid the floor yet,” Jeremiah winced, observing Ben lying in the dirt. 

“I am covered in dirt. There is no part of my body that can be further covered.” 

Jeremiah chuckled at his dramatics, poured the water into the tub and cleaned himself; Benjamin had gone first last night. He scrubbed fairly efficiently, and saw when he was finished that the water had turned dark brown. 

Benjamin was lying with his limbs splayed, eyes closed. Jeremiah stepped over him and went to retrieve more water from their new pump. After it was heated, he crouched down next to Benjamin, and nudged his shoulder. 

“Your turn,” he said when Benjamin ignored him, and Benjamin turned away and groaned. 

“I’ll sleep here,” he offered. 

Jeremiah hooked his arms beneath Ben’s knees and shoulders, and lifted him. Benjamin sputtered awake, and Jer sat him on the lip of the tub. 

“Up,” he instructed, and Benjamin raised his arms. He peeled of his shirt, and Ben fumbled at the button on his trousers till he slid out of them, then his underpants. Jer lifted him and dropped him into the tub. 

Ben groaned at the warm water, and laid there meditatively. “This is nice,” he mumbled. “I’ll sleep here instead.” He cracked his eyes open and smiled mischievously. 

Jeremiah grabbed the cloth from the lip of the tub and soaped it up. “Arms,” he instructed, and Benjamin flung one out, letting it rest on the edge of the tub. Jeremiah covered it in the cloth, and squeezed his way down, pulling away the dirt and soothing the overworked muscles. Ben sighed in relief, and watched Jeremiah through heavy lids as he worked to clean the other arm. When Jeremiah had cleaned his torso and ran the cloth up the back of his neck, Benjamin took a deep breath and let out a soft sigh, relaxing into the touch. 

“Close your eyes,” Jeremiah said softly, and worked his fingers through Benjamin’s hair, smiling as Benjamin’s mouth went slack. When he’d finished rinsing, the water had grown tepid, and Benjamin’s legs were lax when he picked up first one, then the other, to press his thumbs into the arches of his feet and scrub the cloth up his legs. 

Benjamin blinked when Jeremiah lifted him to pass the cleaned cloth under his ass and over his groin, but didn’t show discomfort or try to stop him. He just watched quietly as Jer wrung the cloth out, then leaned forward and kissed him. 

Jeremiah went completely still, hands at his sides, and kissed back steadily, gently. Benjamin leaned up against Jeremiah’s bare chest, and Jeremiah lifted him, Benjamin’s heels catching on his underpants. 

Jeremiah freed one hand to run a towel through Benjamin’s dripping hair, then deposited him on the bed. He went to clean the tub, but Ben made a noise of disagreement.

“Come here,” Benjamin said, and Jeremiah went. 

Jeremiah got onto his knees on the bed and leaned in, kissed Ben tenderly, close-mouthed. Ben huffed in response. 

“I am not a _virgin_ you need to coddle,” he argued thickly, still somewhat dazed. 

Jeremiah cupped Ben’s jaw in his hand, and looked at him with shared hurt. “No,” he said simply. “Though I don’t imagine you have ever been coddled. I imagine your first time you were very frightened, and it was painful.” 

Benjamin looked sharply away, dislodging Jer’s hand. Jer dropped his hands, letting Benjamin move if he wished. The boy stayed still, listening. 

“I don’t believe you’ve ever had your virginity taken.” Benjamin frowned, and Jeremiah leaned forward, let his fingers lift to trail on the side of Benjamin’s neck. “Though I do know how I might I take my gentle boy’s virginity,” Jeremiah informed him, and leaned forward to kiss gently at his neck, lips wet. Benjamin shivered. 

“Like that,” Jeremiah smiled, pressing Benjamin to lay back and putting a pillow under his head. “I would find where he liked to be touched,” he ran his thumbs down Ben’s neck to his shoulders, then kissed there. He laid a palm in the center of Ben’s chest and kissed him again, lazy, not responding to Ben’s attempts to move faster, to kiss as a perfunctory step to fucking. 

“Why don’t you turn over, onto your stomach?” Jer asked, stroking his stomach, and Benjamin complied. Jer watched him settle, enjoyed the soft curve of his buttocks, ached to touch the lean muscle of his back. To be nearer to him, to feel him breathe and relax at Jeremiah's touch.

Jer placed a hand on the back of Benjamin’s neck, and he went limp in the hold. He trailed sucking kisses down either side of his spine, pressed at the muscles that were tight with his fingers until they released. Benjamin went limp as a noodle, breathing steadily and deeply. Jer was patient, focused. 

When Jer finally pressed his hands and mouth to the base of Benjamin’s spine, he heard Benjamin draw a sharp breath, squirm, and let out a small noise of fear. 

It took Jeremiah some time to realize that Benjamin wasn’t actually afraid of him. That, he could have understood; he was a large man, and had physical advantage over Benjamin’s vulnerable body. 

It wasn’t until he woke once to the subtle noises of Benjamin removing the evidence of a nocturnal emission that he realized it was conditioning; Benjamin was afraid to become erect and potentially orgasm from Jer’s touches. He’d been so terrified that he dropped to his knees, put his hands behind his back, and spread his knees to be injured, breathing fast. He hadn’t even pleaded with Jeremiah until Jer tried to reassure him. 

Jeremiah had previously broken that conditioning during Ben’s winter with him. There had been no marks left behind, but Jer had no doubts that he had been harmed once the trainer learned of the broken conditioning; the punishment would have methodically followed each evidence of wrongdoing, until Benjamin associated arousal with fear and pain once again. 

“Deep breath in,” Jeremiah instructed. “Hold. Out.” He kept his palm on Benjamin’s lower back. “How do you feel?”

“I feel, good,” Benjamin replied hazily. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Jeremiah soothed, empathetic. “Do you want me to stop? You know how I love to hear your no.” Jeremiah was being genuine; Benjamin knew this.

Benjamin paused. “I don’t want you to stop,” he said finally. “But, I might,” he trailed off. 

“That’s ok,” Jeremiah soothed. “You’ve been so good for me.”

Benjamin laughed through his nose. “I haven’t done anything.” 

“That’s right,” Jeremiah ran a broad palm up his spine, then back down. “You don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to control anything. There’s no way you might respond that I don’t want.” He leaned in and kissed at Benjamin’s lower back, felt the muscles arching. “That’s it. My sweet virgin boy.”

“I-“ Benjamin started, and Jeremiah wrapped his hands around the backs of Ben’s knees and pushed upwards until he reached the base of his buttocks. 

“Did you ever think about how you might want to have someone touch you for the first time?”

Benjamin shook his head. Of course he didn’t; he was being touched in ways he didn’t desire before he knew what sexuality was. 

“It is customary to be gentle,” Jeremiah informed him, letting his thumbs brush over Benjamin’s inner thighs. “To be attentive to a partner’s pleasure. To move slowly, to make sure one's partner knows they won’t be harmed.” 

Benjamin’s hips twitched, and Jeremiah backed off. He didn’t want him to get too excited, too fast. 

“That’s it,” he praised. “You know that I’m in control. It’s ok to let your body respond to me. I won’t be displeased.”

“Ok,” Benjamin said softly, and his breath hitched as Jeremiah parted his thighs, and moved his thumbs over the tense muscles in his buttocks. 

“Nice and relaxed,” Jeremiah instructed, hypnotic. “I’m going to take care of you.” 

Benjamin stayed tense for a few more moments, then returned to his earlier laxity, despite the fact that Jeremiah could smell his arousal. 

“Good,” Jeremiah said, and gently parted his buttocks. Benjamin’s breathing went deeper, but he didn’t stir. 

Jeremiah kissed at the base of Ben’s spine, then made his way down to the tight muscle of his anus, and pressed his tongue there. Benjamin gasped and went tense, then melted as Jeremiah went down on him, letting the pressure lighten and increase in a steady, predictable rhythm. 

Benjamin was so good for him. Jeremiah’s chest filled with warmth; Ben was relaxed under his hands, all tension leaving his body until even that place where he was most vulnerable relaxed under Jeremiah’s tongue. 

Whenever Benjamin’s breathing became more urgent, Jeremiah backed off until he relaxed again. Ben trying to come could easily lead to a panic attack, and Jeremiah thought there were gentler ways to break that conditioning. 

Finally, with the entrance to Benjamin’s body submitting to his gentle touch, and his breathing deep and steady, Jeremiah pressed his knuckles to the line of Ben’s perineum, deep into his prostate. 

Benjamin came on reflex, his breath barely catching as Jeremiah felt his internal muscles contracting to ejaculate on the sheets beneath him, drawn out for a few long moments. And no wonder, when the poor boy couldn’t even touch himself anymore to find relief. 

Jeremiah gathered Benjamin up in his arms, and gently moved Ben’s arm away when Ben automatically searched for his cock. 

“It’s been so long since I held you,” Jeremiah said simply. Benjamin, still dazed and wobbly as a newborn foal, tucked his head into Jeremiah’s chest. 

“That’s good,” Jeremiah said, placing a palm on Benjamin’s back. “Stay right in that place where you are.”

Benjamin’s heart beat slowed, and he turned his flushed face up to Jer. 

“Who was the first boy you took?” 

“Jamison,” Jeremiah smiled. “We were both only just of age. He used to taunt me. I loved it.” He kissed Benjamin’s forehead. “What do you remember of your mother?”

Benjamin pressed a little closer, frowned. “She was sad, near the end.” 

“What about when she was happy?” 

“Forget what you have learned to survive this life,” Benjamin murmured absently, so soft that Jeremiah nearly missed it. 

“Hmm?”

“There was a patch of daisies, behind our quarters,” Benjamin illustrated. Jeremiah ran his fingers absently through Benjamin’s hair. “In the summer, my mother would lay in my father’s lap, and he would thread chains of flowers through her hair,” he began, and his face broke into a beautiful smile.


End file.
